


Off The Grid

by Latte



Category: Bourne (Movies), The Bourne Identity (2002), The Bourne Supremacy (2004), The Bourne Ultimatum (2007)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latte/pseuds/Latte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason and Nicky had a past from their time in Paris, but she is the only one to remember it.  As they meet again and again as the movies progress, he begins to dream of a lover whose face he never sees.  After New York he finally knows who she is and is determined to find her.  She may be the key to his memory and his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Sin With No Name

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : Nope, no way, doesn’t belong to me.  
>  **Rating** : Mature  
>  **Pairing** : Bourne/Nicky  
>  **Timeframe** : Opens during _Supremacy_ , with references to _Identity_ , by the second chapter it is into _Ultimatum_ and will move beyond. It becomes AU in later chapters.  
>  **AN** : This is all from the movies, and my imagination. No books or deleted scenes used.

[](http://photobucket.com/)

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_It’s a sin with a name,_  
 _Like a hand in the flame,_ –  Dangerous Game – from Jekyll & Hyde

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_Berlin - 2007_

Nicky Parsons jumped as the door slammed shut with a crack that echoed like a gunshot. She was crouched against the cold green wall of a metal storage room under Alexanderplatz Station in Berlin. Her body shook and tears ran down her face. She had known they were dangerous, every one of them, but she’d never in a million years believed that Jason Bourne would hold a gun to her head.

She bit her lip hard to try and get her emotions under control, but it was a battle she couldn’t win. For two years she’d locked all her feelings away, now he was back. His warm strength had pressed against her and she’d been surrounded by his scent, but this time he’d been filled with anger and hate. It was too much, too much. She gave in and let huge sobs rack her body. 

She hadn’t cried when his last mission had gone south and Bourne had disappeared. She’d kept her emotions under tight control when she’d gotten the news that Treadstone was being dismantled. She’d hung on by a thread when Jason had invaded the Safehouse and pointed a gun at her from across the room. He’d been lost and confused, his mind broken. Her fear that rainy night had been that he would say or do something in front of Conklin that would give them away.

A small hysterical sob escaped her lips and she clamped two fingers against them. “I didn’t realize then. I didn’t understand the extent of the damage. Oh Jason, I’m sorry,” she cried at how foolish she’d been.

Nicky wrapped her arms around her body and held on tightly. She knew that the signal from the microphone hidden beneath her clothes wasn’t transmitting. If it had been, she would have heard gunfire when Bourne had left. Armed men would have rushed in and the room would have been filled with chaos as they pulled her through the door that led to the outside world. For the moment, she was safe, in a hidden place, off the grid, and could give vent to years of pent up grief, before she had to face Pamela Landy and Ward Abbott.

She didn’t know how long she sat crying, but exhaustion finally began to take the pain away. Her eyelids grew heavy and if it hadn’t been for the cold dampness that seeped through her coat, she would have fallen asleep. Gripping the handrail, she pulled herself stiffly to her feet. Nicky didn’t need to check the small mirror in her purse, she knew her make-up had long since been washed away and there would be no hiding red puffy eyes that told their own story.

The last thing she did before she opened the door was reach under her coat and sweater to pull off the tiny microphone attached to her bra. After burying it deep in her handbag, she rewrapped her scarf and walked carefully back into the world of death and deception.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

“Tom, what’s the name of that hotel?” Pamela Landy turned to her assistant as he hung up the phone.

“Hotel Breker, they say Bourne checked in there about half an hour ago.” Cronin was quickly writing down the address as he spoke to his boss.

Landy looked around for Ward Abbott and his assistant Danny Zorn, but they were nowhere to be found. “Great,” she muttered. “All right people, we’ve got him. Let’s go.” As she grabbed her coat, the elevator doors opened and Nicky Parsons moved sluggishly into the hall and pushed open the glass doors that separated them. “Thank God, Nicky.” She didn’t have to tell Tom to call off the search for the missing agent. She could hear him giving the orders in the background. “Are you all right? Did Bourne hurt you?”

“I’m fine, fine.” The girl’s voice was flat as if each word was an effort. “He didn’t harm me.”

“We’ve found him and are headed there now.” Landy moved quickly to the elevator impatiently dragging Nicky with her.

“You have to know, he didn’t…” She was cut off as Pam tightened her hold on her arm and pulled the startled girl away from the crowd of agents gathering for the kill.

“We already know, we heard.” The older woman studied the younger one carefully.

“You heard?” Nicky began to tremble, if they’d heard her breakdown, what else did they hear? What game were they playing with her?

“Well, we heard he claimed to be thousands of miles away. I’ve got people checking his story. Do you have more to add to that?” Landy probed.

“Pam, the elevator is here,” her assistant called out. Parsons eyes fluttered closed. The momentary distraction gave her a chance to think before she responded, but she was tired and unsure of whom to trust or how much they already knew.

“Hold it for me, damnit! I’ll be right there.” The task force chief was frustrated. Too much was happening at once and suddenly her priorities weren’t as clear as they had been. It was obvious the girl knew something and was leery of speaking openly about it. But they finally knew where Bourne was hiding and no matter what; she didn’t want to let him get away again. “Nicky…” 

“Yes…” She jumped. The warmth in the hall had wrapped her in a cocoon and was making her sleepy, slowing her reaction time. “You’re…I think…you’re hunting the wrong man. He insisted he was in India when your men were killed… and…he…he…kept asking about Berlin from years ago...but he never worked in Ber--” 

“Nicky, listen to me,” Pam demanded as she cut her off. “Go to your room and wait for me there. Get some sleep if you can. You look like hell.” Hammering the exhausted girl with questions was wasting precious time. “You aren’t to talk with anyone until I’ve debriefed you, not anyone.” The glazed look in the girl’s eyes was sending off warning bells. “Nicky, did you hear me?”

“Yes, sorry Ma’am.” She forced a smile on her face and hoped she looked more normal than she felt. “Only you, I’m not to talk....” 

“That means no one,” she emphasized each word. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” 

“Yes, I think I do.” For the first time all day Nicky felt some hope. Maybe there was one other person who believed that Jason Bourne hadn’t killed the two men who had been trying to buy information in Berlin a week earlier. 

“Can you make it back to the hotel by yourself, or should I send one of the local staff with you?” A small part of the senior agent was wondering if she should send someone to keep a discreet surveillance on Parsons. Something was very wrong.

“No, no Ma’am, I’m fine, just cold and…tired. I’ll take a cab. I don’t need looking after.”

Landy nodded still unconvinced that more hadn’t transpired at Alexanderplatz station then Nicky was letting on. 

“Good-luck…” Parsons called out as the elevator doors closed. “…Jason,” she added in a whisper and then said a silent pray that he was as careful and prepared as he always used to be.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Nicky stood under a hot shower and let the water beat down on the top of her head. They had pulled her out of Amsterdam so fast she hadn’t had a chance to grab her go bag. She kept one in the back of her closet and another in her car for just such emergencies. She’d made a quick stop in the gift shop upon returning to the hotel and purchased a few necessities. Now she didn’t have to sleep naked in a cold city and when she woke she’d have a change of underclothes.

She was too exhausted to think straight. She’d been riding an adrenaline high since Landy and Abbott had shown up outside her office twelve hours earlier. The second she’d seen Ward; she'd known that she was finally face to face with her worst fears. 

On autopilot she dried her hair, ripped open the package containing a pair of draw-string sleep pants and a tank top. She’d chosen the outfit quickly. Her only thought being how easily she would be able to run wearing it. “Yeah, but where the hell am I going to run, dressed in this? It’s winter in Berlin!” she muttered as she checked to be sure she had a full clip in her weapon.

The cool weight of the Glock was familiar in her hand, but it hadn’t always been. She’d been able to shoot well enough to pass the CIA’s basic course, but she had never intended to learn more than that. They had never intended her to learn more. It was Jason Bourne who had insisted that she improve her skills.

Nicky stood unmoving in a cold hotel room in Berlin and remembered an early morning in Paris almost four years ago.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_Paris - 2003_

The sun was just coming up and Nicky Parsons was running her usual four-mile path when Bourne moved quickly past her. He was focused on his workout, his arms pumping as his stride tore up the ground. The next thing she knew he put on more speed and disappeared around the next bend. It wasn’t the first time in the twelve months since she’d taken her post with Treadstone that she’d seen him out and about the city. Like all those other times, he had given no indication that he recognized her, though she was sure he could describe in complete detail everyone around him.

An hour and a half later Nicky was in her office at the Safehouse, going through the morning correspondences, when something made her look up. She jumped, caught off guard. Jason was standing on the other side of her desk.

“What are you doing here?” her voice squeaked slightly, but she picked up steam as anger replaced fear. “And how the hell did you get in?”

“I’ve been told, I’m pretty good with locks and disabling security equipment.” It was an understatement and they both knew it. “Besides I’ve got an appointment, remember.”

“You’re not due for another forty-five minutes. Next time please….”

“If I’d waited these would have gotten cold.” He dropped a sack of sliced, warm baguettes on her desk and handed her a steaming latte. 

“How did you know…?” The boulangerie next door had been closed when Nicky had arrived almost an hour ago. Madam Dupree usually opened early, but today the elderly lady was running late.

“Along with my other talents, I’m also observant.” He grinned and sat in the chair across from her as he reached into the bag and pulled out a warm toasted slice of French bread.

“I guess you are,” she laughed. Bourne had had an appointment with her every four weeks for the last year. She was sure that during any number of those visits there had been a latte and a half eaten baguette sitting on her desk. “Thank you for bringing my breakfast.”

“You’re welcome. I figured you’d be hungry after your run. You’ve got good form,” he acknowledged and bit off an edge of his baguette

“Thank-you…uhh so do you.” Her brows beetled over dark eyes as she tried to figure out what was happening. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that they run together sometime, when she remembered exactly whom she was speaking to. “Have you been watching me?”

“No, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His eyes clouded and he frowned. 

“You didn’t frighten me. I was surprised that you’d acknowledge having seen me outside of the office, or anywhere for that matter.” It bothered her on a level she’d never admit. She’d always thought Jason was attractive and she’d had to work hard to think of him only as a colleague.

“We live in the same city. On the surface Paris seems large and crowded, but in many ways it’s very small.” He shrugged. “No matter how hard we try to make it appear otherwise, we run in the same circle because of what we have in common: this place and the reason for it. You’ll discover it’s that way in most of the world.” 

“That puts a new perspective on the situation, when you think about it that way.” She smiled gently and changed the subject. They had things to do and she was sure he had more important places to be. “Now we need to get down to business. Any trouble with headaches since we met last?” she asked with as much professional detachment as she could muster. It took them twenty minutes to go through the usual list of questions.

“That about does it.” Parsons looked up at the man across from her. “It sounds like you’ve had a good four weeks.” 

“I’ve got a question,” he looked her straight in the eyes and sounded grim. 

“Sure, anything I can do to help.” She watched him expectantly. 

“What would you have done, if I’d had a gun in my hand instead of a bakery bag when I came in here this morning?” It had bothered him ever since he’d broken in and she hadn’t done anything to protect herself.

“I guess I would have died.” She paled, caught completely off guard. “Basic CIA training isn’t a match for yours.”

“No, no it’s not.” He didn’t like frightening her, but she needed to know the truth. “You’re too vulnerable the way you are. I’m surprised Conklin didn’t make sure you were more proficient with a weapon and had more protection before leaving you alone here.” 

“It still wouldn’t be enough…” She shook her head not wanting to think about what would happen if any of the Treadstone men, who she watched so carefully, decided she knew too much about them.

“After the first three seconds no, but it’s those seconds that usually decide the outcome. If you add in the element of surprise, it could tip the balance in your favor.” He stepped quickly around her desk and opened the top drawer. “Where the hell do you keep your weapon?”

“In my field box, exactly where I’m supposed to keep it.” She was getting angry. Who did he think he was? First he frightened her and then he tried to boss her around?

“It’s not good enough.” He glared at her. “Do you even keep it loaded?” 

“Of course I do.” She stood quickly and gripped him by the shoulders in an attempt to get his full attention. “Jason, you have to remember our jobs are very different.”

“True, but they’re intertwined. What I do can affect you and your ability to do your work affects me. You think I’m being paranoid, don’t you?” He saw her eyes fill with doubt that she wasn’t quick enough to hide. “You think this goes along with the headaches, and all the other symptoms you’ve been monitoring?” 

“It had crossed my mind.” Nicky knew that all of her charges were very careful about their surroundings. She’d seen it happen over and over. Each time any of them would enter a room, they would quickly scan it to identify all the doors and windows. Check to see if anything had been moved since the last time they were there. She was sure Jason knew where every potential weapon was in her office, which was the deadliest and which could be reached the quickest.

“Being careful is what has kept me alive.” He met her steady gaze and hoped she understood. Did she even have a clue that sometimes the CIA hunted its own? “I’m trying to do the same for you.”

“Why?” she whispered. It was the second time that morning he’d stepped past the careful professional barrier they’d built between them. The first time had been when he brought her breakfast. 

“Because for the last eighteen months you’ve kept me healthy.” There was more, but he wasn’t about to explain it to her. He’d been part of Treadstone before she came aboard and he knew that she treated the agents differently. He’d heard her fight with Conklin on one occasion. The boss wanted his men to be nothing more than automatic killers, Parsons had argued that in order to keep their cover and their sanity, they needed to be human beings as well. For that, alone, he felt he owed her his life.

“Oh, oh, all right then.” It hadn’t been the answer she expected. And from the cool look on Bourne’s face, she wondered if there wasn’t something more to it. “What did you have in mind?”

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

That was how it started. Jason and Nicky met the following Saturday and snuck into the countryside. He gave her a Glock 9mm Compact that was unnumbered and untraceable. It had a smaller grip and was lighter than the standard issue Glock the CIA had given her. They spent hours at an old farmhouse, kilometers from the city, improving her skills.

All the time she was shooting, he talked. He talked about pull weights, wind sheer, and lines of sight. He talked about the need for secrecy, hiding, policing her brass so the gun could never be traced and the necessity of weekly practice that no one would know about, especially Alexander Conklin.

“One more time, Nicky,” his voice was hard, and emotionless as he pushed her. “I know you’re cold and tired. Your arm hurts and your head is about to explode, but this is when it is most important to be able to hit what you aim at.”

“I can’t do this any more!” she screamed at him in frustration. All the information he’d given her swam together in her mind until nothing made sense. Thick clouds, that had been building all afternoon, chose that moment to open up and cold rain pelted them.

“Yes you can!” He gripped her shoulders and turned her toward the target refusing to give into the angry woman or the weather. 

Tears mixed with rain and filled Nicky’s dark eyes as she took aim. The lines of the target blurred and refused to take shape. With determination she bit down on her anger and supported the smooth deadly gift Jason had given her with both hands.

“Now! Do it now!” he harangued from behind her.

Her anger slipped its leash and she gave a harsh gasp from deep in her throat as she pictured Jason Bourne’s face in place of the target. Without thinking she pulled the trigger once, twice, and a third time.

“Oh my God,” she moaned as she realized what she’d done. Her knees buckled and she would have fallen, but Jason was quicker than she was. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him as his other hand reached for the weapon. 

“Easy there,” he murmured in her ear while he pulled the Glock from her limp fingers. Once it was slipped securely against the small of his back, he picked her up and carried her into the farmhouse.

The old living room smelled musty, as if it hadn’t been used in months. Jason pulled a dustcover off one of the overstuffed chairs and carefully put Nicky down. Kneeling he set a match to the pile of dry kindling in the fireplace. Once that caught he slowly added larger pieces of wood until he had a roaring fire. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” 

She hadn’t moved when he returned with the spent casings and metal fragments he’d dug out of the old tree behind the target he’d hung. He could see her shivering beneath her jeans, turtleneck sweater and quilted vest.

“You should have let me help you gather up the mess I left behind.” Nicky’s voice was hoarse and muffled because her face was still buried in her hands. 

“No, I pushed you too hard. I’m sorry, but it could be important, it could save your life.” He knelt by her chair and caught his fingers in her hair at her temple. “Please, look at me.”

“It wasn’t you,” she gasped as she slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. “I…I…was angry…I looked at the target and saw you…that’s when I pulled the trigger,” her words became a whisper as she spoke the last. She gently stroked his left cheek and brow.

Jason felt something break loose inside of him. In his attempt to help her protect herself, he’d pushed her until she’d brushed up against the dark being that lived inside of him. “That’s all right. Use whatever you have to. If you can make your anger work for you, you’re that much ahead.”

“It hurt,” she gasped and slipped off the chair to kneel closer to him. Suddenly she was aware of his desire pressing against her belly. Her eyes widened and she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Hurt is better than dead.” He pulled back so their bodies were no longer pressed together, but she gripped his sweater to keep him where he was.

“Jason,” she whispered as she trembled.

“I’m sorry. It’s only adrenaline, it’ll pass.” He’d seen her pupils dilate and her nostrils flare and knew exactly what she was feeling.

“No, it’s not,” her words were husky with feelings and they made his head swim. “I’ve been attracted to you for a long time.”

“All the more reason it would be a mistake.” He tried to sound harsh, but he’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her and she wasn’t making this easy on him.

“Yeah, it would be, but don’t you ever make mistakes?” She bit the side of her lower lip and let is slip between her teeth nervously.

“Not until today!” he gasped. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her mouth to his. He rolled them to the floor pressing his body into hers. He moved roughly against her in an attempt to frighten her away, but she met each hard touch with gentle caresses that made his skin burn, until he was as lost as she was.

His last coherent thought as he stripped her sweater from her body and pulled her jeans over her slim hips was that if this had to happen, at least he’d chosen well, they were safe, in a hidden place, off the grid.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_Berlin 2007_

Nicky moaned as desire shook her. She blinked her eyes and realized that she’d been standing beside her bed with the Glock he’d given her held tightly in her fist. It had been a mistake to remember because she was not safe and she was not hidden. Once she was, she could indulge in all the memories of her eighteen-month affair with Jason that she liked.

She carefully popped the clip out of her weapon, checked it and put it back in place. What she needed most of all was sleep. Then maybe she could keep her mind out of the past.


	2. A Dangerous Game

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Berlin - 2007_

Pam Landy walked tiredly down the hall of the Westin Grand, Berlin. Lies and death had been the norm over the last few days and she was exhausted. The taped conversation between Ward Abbott and Jason Bourne was tucked safely in her pocket. She’d written and filed her preliminary report, but the final was a long way from being finished. All she wanted was to go to her room and crawl into bed, but she’d left one stone unturned in this mess. Until that was taken care of, she couldn’t recommend closing the file on Treadstone. She had a cup of strong coffee in each hand. Her coat was slung over one arm and her handbag dangled from her left shoulder. When she arrived at Nicky Parson’s door, her purse slammed against the knob, as she juggled her load in an attempt to knock. 

“Who is it?” a sleepy voice called out. Someone was outside her room and their movements had woken her from a sound sleep. She grabbed her 9mm Glock Compact from under her pillow, locked the clip into place and rolled lightly to the floor on the far side of her bed.

“It’s Pam Landy, my hands are full. Can you let me in before I drop something?”

“Coming,” Parsons answered. She picked up her hairbrush and wrapped it quickly in a pillowcase before tossing it at the deadbolt lock. With her arms over her head, she hugged the floor, her gun clenched tightly in her fist. The large bed was her best cover, if the older woman had a hunting team in tow. When weapon’s fire didn’t fill the air, she felt safer, but was still careful as she walked quietly across the room to check through the peephole.

“What the hell was that all about?” Landy looked from the girl to the brush that had spilled out of the white casing, once she was allowed entrance to the room.

“I’m just being careful.” Parsons shrugged.

“Bourne really frightened you tonight, didn’t he?” She raised a brow at the Glock still securely in the other woman’s hand. 

“I’ve been afraid for over two years, ever since Treadstone went up in smoke, tonight just upped the ante.” She dodged the question as she double-checked the curtains to be sure they were tightly closed and then lit lamps on her desk and nightstand. She might only be a ‘handler’ with the CIA, but Jason had taught her a few tricks about staying alive. “Everyone involved with that operation seems to be dying.” She rubbed the back of her neck trying to get rid of the tingling she had felt since her life had crashed down around her, in Paris, forever ago. 

“Not quite everyone. Bourne was on a train that left here, for Moscow, three hours ago.”

“Oh…” Nicky was filled with relief, but she was afraid to move or speak for fear it would show. 

“How about putting that thing down?” Landy pointed toward the Glock and held out a cup of coffee. “We need to talk.”

“Ah…sure…sorry…” But she hesitated; looking deep into Pam’s eyes trying to read her intent.

“Conklin trained you well.” Pamela offered a smile as she read the girl’s doubts.

Nicky shrugged, but didn’t respond. She realized Jason had been correct four years earlier. Without the element of surprise, she was no match for a woman who had spent years in the field. Tentatively, she took the coffee and placed her weapon on a table within easy reach as she sat and tried to appear nonchalant. If things turned ugly, she didn’t plan on going down without a fight.

“Now tell me, what happened at Alexanderplatz Station?”

With a sigh she began talking. She knew that Landy was only interested in recent facts about Bourne and that was all she told her. What she was feeling, and what had come before, in Paris, weren’t important. She drank her coffee and carefully told the older woman everything that had transpired, including her loss of control, but not the reason behind it. By the time she was finished, both woman had empty cups and the sun was coming up on a cold Berlin morning.

“I appreciate the information. It corroborates this.” Pam pulled a small tape recorder out of her pocket and placed it on the table between them. “Ward Abbott is dead, by the way.”

“Did Jason…” Nicky gasped as her eyes flicked between the recorder and Landy.

“No, Ward shot himself. Listen and you’ll understand why.” She pressed the small ‘play’ button on the recorder and the silence between them was filled with harsh male voices. First Abbott was demanding help from an unknown source, then he was taunting Bourne with Marie’s death and finally he dared the younger man to kill him.

_“It’s what you are, Jason, a killer. You always will be. Go on, do it, do it!”_

Nicky held her breath waiting for the sound of a weapon firing but it never come.

 _“She wouldn’t want me to, that’s the only reason you’re alive.”_ And then there was nothing on the recorder but silence. 

“The girl, Marie, is she dead?” She could hear Jason’s anguished words echoing in her ears and gripped her coffee cup to keep her fingers from trembling.

“Yes,” Pamela sighed as she turned off the small machine between them and returned it to her pocket. “Marie Kreutz died of a gun shot wound to the head six days ago. Her body was found in a river in Goa, India.”

“He meant it, you know. That’s what brought him back. He’d still be in hiding, off the grid…if…well…” Nicky’s voice broke. Jason had used that same expression with her when they’d hidden their affair from prying eyes. They’d both known that they hadn’t really been off the grid, just blocked for the moment, but it had been so sweet to pretend. “He loved her…Marie…or…as close to it as he was capable of feeling when he lived in a world he couldn’t remember and didn’t trust.” It hurt her more than she thought possible to say the words she knew to be true. But she’d heard the evidence and it was breaking her heart.

“You knew him the best of anyone who is left alive.” Landy gazed at Parsons and wondered what was going on in her head. The girl had responded strangely to the tape. “Do you think he’s through? Has he gotten his revenge?”

“I…ah…” She shook her head to clear it, but it was hard to stay in control. A small part of her wondered how many more times she’d let Jason Bourne hurt her, before she’d learned her lesson. “I…want to say yes, if for no other reason than…ah…well…there is no one left to kill.”

“Humph,” the sound came from deep in the section chief’s throat. Who indeed, she thought. One thing she’d learned over the years was that there was always another layer. The question in her mind was did Jason know that. “Thank you very much, Nicky, you’ve been helpful.” She got up and headed toward the door, knowing she’d learned all she was going to from this source.

“Wait…” the tired girl called out. “One of the problems in dealing with Bourne is that we never learned what caused his amnesia.”

“What do you mean?” Pam focused on this new tidbit but was unsure of its relevance. 

“There is usually a physical or psychological reason for amnesia. It’s obvious, from what we’ve learned in the last two years, that Jason Bourne was injured escaping from Wombosi’s yacht. But there is no way of telling if he received sufficient head trauma to erase his memory. It’s just as obvious, though I can’t prove it, that his training involved manipulation of his psyche. Mix those two together and it’s no wonder he broke.” Tears filled her eyes and she blinked quickly to keep them from falling. “I’m just saying, let him go. We’ve done enough damage to him already. I…I…should have seen it. It was my job, but I didn’t see any of it coming. Please, just let him go. I don’t think you’ll ever hear from him again.”

“I’d like nothing better than to close the book on Treadstone, but I don’t have the final say.” The senior agent’s words made Parsons’ neck begin to tingle, all over again.  
……………………………  
After Pam went to her room, Nicky sat staring into space. He had gotten away! Joy sliced through her and lightened the pain she’d been feeling, and couldn’t express, when she’d been being watched so carefully. But her happiness was fleeting as her old guilt returned to haunt her. 

“Jason,” she whispered. “What happened to you? What started all of this and how did I miss it?” Unbidden her mind slipped back to that last morning in Paris, before he left for Marseille. The last time he saw her and remembered who she was.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Paris - 2005_

When Jason slid out of bed, the loss of his body heat wakened her, but she didn’t want to let it show. If she kept her eyes closed for a few more minutes, maybe she could prevent morning from coming and they’d be hidden by the darkness, off the grid, for a little while longer. When she heard him moving around in the kitchen, she rolled onto her stomach and buried her face against his pillow. Her long blonde hair fell across her cheek and beyond.

Moments later she heard his quiet footsteps as he entered the bedroom. She knew if she looked up, she’d see him watching her. “Jason,” her voice was groggy as she reached across the space that separated them.

“Time to wake-up.” He rested one knee on the mattress and caressed her naked back. 

“You have wonderful hands,” she sighed and arched into his touch.

“We have to talk.” He frowned, unsure of what he was feeling. He’d deliberately gotten up an hour earlier than usual. They’d talk and then if there was time…

“I know, I’m sorry…we agreed…” Nicky turned over and pulled the sheet to her chin as she interlocked his fingers with hers. This was always the hardest part. The affair they’d started casually eighteen months earlier had become much more for her. She’d fallen in love with him.

“As I told you last night, I’ll be gone for a while.” He pulled her into his arms and leaned against the headboard. Only the sheet, which covered her and his pajama bottoms, separated her silky pale skin from his warm hard body. “I can’t give you details, you already know too much.” 

Eight weeks earlier he’d received an encrypted message directly from Conklin. It was odd, but not unheard of. Twice before, he’d received his orders from their boss instead of the Treadstone handler, but that had been before Nicky had the job. Since being assigned his latest mission he’d been in and out of Paris taking care of details. He didn’t doubt that she knew something big was going down, but she’d never said or done anything that might compromise either of them. 

“I understand,” she whispered, though she didn’t really. Always before she’d felt part of his missions, but this time it was different. This time it was something so secret, it had by-passed her. She assumed it came directly from Langley.

“I hope you don’t! The less you know, the safer you are,” his voice was rough with worry. He hated that she knew anything. It could mean her life if anyone found out she had any knowledge of his life, beyond what was necessary for her to do her job. It was one of the main reasons he’d insisted on keeping their affair a secret. 

“I understand that we need to be separate for a while.” Her cheek rested on his chest and she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart under her ear. She concentrated on the soothing sound instead of the worry she’d been fighting ever since it became apparent she had been left out of the loop.

“You shouldn’t even know that much.” He was always like this before he went on a mission. She’d come to recognize it as one of his compulsions and knew it did him the most good if she listened and agreed. The tears would come later, when he was gone.

“Remember everything I’ve taught you.” He tilted her face upward and kissed her gently. “You’re almost as good at doctoring a cell phone as I am.” It was one of their first precautions. Whenever they were together, they left their cells at home. Each carried a prepaid phone that was free of the GPS identifiers that were present in theirs. He’d taught her to rewire the toss-away versions so they could receive their calls and it appeared as if they were using the ones provided by the CIA. 

“What are the rules of living off the grid?” he asked as he unconsciously raked his left hand down the length of her hair. The reparative movement calmed him as they talked.

“Your habits will get you killed. Never do anything that you would normally do in the life you lead now. Keep it simple. If it doesn’t feel right it probably isn’t.” She raised her head and looked at him carefully. This was new. He usually recited the lists of safeguards he’d been preaching since that first day he’d given her weapon’s training. He’d never asked her to repeat back the carefully learned lessons before. 

“What are the rules when using your weapon?”

“Always be careful.” She stroked his chest so she’d never forget the feel of his skin in the early morning. “When practicing, police my brass. If it’s the real thing, don’t think, just shoot and then wipe my prints and leave it behind because once it’s used, there will be a record of its existence.” The Glock was the only memento she had from him. There were no pictures, or ticket stubs, nothing to give testimony to them. Nicky knew leaving the 9mm Compact behind would be almost as hard as having to use it to take a life.

“You have your Swiss account memorized?” He grinned as he asked the question. He was talking to a woman whose memory was better than his. He’d always used the safeguard of a sub-dermal information capsule.

“I think I’ve got that one covered,” she laughed and poked him in the ribs.

“So ya wanna pick a fight, do ya?” He rolled her beneath him in one swift move. It made her realize how easily he could overpower her, but she knew to the depth of her being that he’d never hurt her. 

“No, please don’t’ tickle me,” she shrieked as he ran his hands under the sheet and lightly along her sides.

“What will ya give me to make me stop?” 

“A kiss,” she offered unable to take her eyes off his mouth. This was different too, this play on a morning before a mission. Usually he was serious and withdrawn, focused on what was to come. 

“A kiss would do nicely, for starters,” Jason’s words poured over her like warm honey as their lips met and he gently nibbled. When Nicky tried to deepen the kiss he chuckled lightly, chiding, “You’re in such a rush.” 

He was rewarded by her quickened breath and dark eyes that dilated until they were almost black.

“I want you,” her words were husky and halting as she stretched to kiss his neck on the sensitive spot below his right ear. He’d started this and, mission or no mission, she hoped to God he planned on finishing it.

“I’m right here!” He wrapped one arm around her, pulling her closer, and cupped her head in his other hand, as his mouth took full possession of hers. A deep groan vibrated against her lips as their tongues met.

Her hands moved along the hard muscles of his back, memorizing the contour and shape of him as she had memorized his taste and smell. They’d learned to live in the moment and this one moment was all she might have left of him. She planned to take as much as he was willing to give.

Catching her by surprise, he growled fiercely and pulled the sheet out from between them. Her naked body pressed against his partially clad one. His hands and lips explored territory he knew well. 

When she reached for his pajama bottoms he grasped her hands and pinned them to the bed. “Please,” she moaned. “Please, Jason, now,” her words were breathy and out of control.

“I want to watch you in the morning light,” he whispered as he threw his one leg over both of hers, locking them in place. His lips moved from one breasts to the other while his left hand kept her wrists on the mattress above her head and his right one moved longingly over her hip and between her thighs.

“Ohhh,” she gasped at his touch and arched against him. He was doing wild wonderful things to her body and she had to clench her teeth to keep from screaming out how much she loved him.

“Yes, that’s it, Babe, that’s it,” he encouraged as he nibbled and touched her. Intense longing throbbed in his blood, and made his eyes molten blue, but he had a greater need to watch as she unraveled for him. He smiled as perspiration dampened her chest and her half-closed eyes grew wild with desire and deep emotion. 

“Jason,” his name was a high-pitched whisper that caught in her throat when his tongue slid down her abdomen and circled in her navel, as his nimble fingers moved between her thighs.

“Let go, Nicolette, I’ve got you. Let go!” His eyes bore into hers demanding that she obey. Then he quickly took her right nipple in his teeth and gently nipped her.

He watched as her body bowed and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. He felt the intensity of her explosion as she jerked beneath him. Without moving away from her, he quickly rid himself of his pajama bottom and wrapped his arms around her trembling body.

“Oh, God!” she cried as she held on tightly to him. Her world and her senses were spinning and her mind was shouting, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you….’ Only the fact that she had her mouth pressed tightly against his neck kept her from giving voice to her deepest feelings.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured then thrust into her as she wrapped her legs around his waist and followed him on another wild journey.

Jason Bourne the observant man had seen everything as Nicky fell apart beneath his skillful hands and mouth. He’d seen it once again when they’d shattered and slowly reformed in each other’s arms. The words might never be spoken between them, but he knew them as surely as if they had both shouted them from the rooftops. He would take them with him wherever he went, because the memory of them and this woman would keep him sane through all of his dark deeds.  
……………………..  
A few minutes later she walked into the kitchen dressed in her running clothes, but there would be no work-out that morning, it was getting late and she’d be lucky to make it to the Safe House on time.

“Do you want coffee before you go?” He looked up from his breakfast. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes still glowed from making love. He put his elbows on either side of his plate, clasped his hands and rested his chin on his fists. He watched her move hesitantly across his kitchen and remembered the fire that had leapt between them less than ten minutes earlier. He was a man who never did anything by chance. He’d planned the extra time that morning and had gained more from it than he’d ever imagined. 

“I don’t have the time.” Nicky looked around his fabulous kitchen. Unlike most of the rest of his apartment, this one room wasn’t spartan and bare. They’d spent countless hours together preparing meals, eating, and even making love here. It was a room where they could just be them. They were free to laugh and live as two normal people. On one memorable evening they’d even danced on the wide expanse of floor. This room held all their secrets. 

“Remember all I’ve taught you.” He was solemn and quiet and it made her feel better. This was the usual Jason Bourne just before a mission.

“I will.” She stood on her toes and kissed him as she always did when they parted in private. Her greatest fear was that someday he wouldn’t come home and she wouldn’t have kissed him good-bye before he left. “Jason—“

“I can’t tell you anything!” he snapped.

“I know, I’m not asking, I never would.” She looked at the hard cold man he’d become in a matter of seconds. “But…I mean if you ever have to…to…go away.” Suddenly she knew that was how it was going to be someday. He would get transferred and just disappear from her life. “I’m not asking that you…well…compromise anything, just please don’t let me think you’re de…” She couldn’t say the word, not when he was going on a mission and could very well die. Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She turned quickly, and would have run from the room if he hadn’t thrown his arms around her and pulled her close.

“Hush, Nicky, I’ve got you,” he whispered as he stroked her hair and face. They couldn’t go on leading this double life. It was tearing her apart and he wasn’t fairing much better. He was beginning to want things a man in his line of work could never have. It was causing doubts and making him soft. He was even questioning his training. Always before he was glad he couldn’t remember who he was before Treadstone. That changed when he realized he’d come to love Nicky Parsons and, against all odds, she loved him in return. He couldn’t afford thoughts like that just before a mission, so again the words remained unspoken between them.

An hour later he locked his apartment door and headed out of Paris. He was on his way to deal death one last time. Once Wombosi was a distant memory, his life was going to change. He and Nicky were going to make use of some plans he’d put in place over a year earlier. The next time they went off the grid, it was going to be for real and forever. She’d become too important to him to leave to chance or behind.  
…………………………..  
Seven days later, he was officially missing. Three weeks later, she saw him again, but thousands of lost memories and the gun he held pointed in her direction separated them. He looked at her with wild eyes, which lacked recognition. His memory was gone and so was he. Then she didn’t see him again for two years.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Berlin - 2007_

The phone ringing beside her bed pulled her back from the past. She had to stop remembering. Each time it brought tears to her eyes and made her helpless. With quick steps she grabbed the phone and took the call from the concierge, confirming her flight to Amsterdam. 

She was tired and hungry and more confused than she’d been in her entire life. Everything had changed in those few short minutes locked in a storage closet under Alexanderplatz Station with Jason Bourne. He had gotten on with his life. She needed to do so as well.

Nicky fought the inner voice that told her to run as fast and far as she could. It wasn’t the smart thing to do. She needed information. When the time was right she’d know it and then she’d drop off the grid forever. She’d had an excellent teacher that no one knew about. She snorted bitterly at the irony that even he had forgotten.  
……………………………………  
While Parsons and Landy had been talking, Noah Vosen sat in his office in New York City at the CIA’s Deep Cover Anti-Terrorism Bureau and read the reports that had been coming in from Berlin over the last few hours. He got up and locked his door and then opened his safe. After taking some time to study all the files he had on Treadstone, he dialed a secure private line to Langley, Virginia. 

“Kramer, here,” CIA Director Ezra Kramer murmured into the phone. 

“Ezra, it’s Noah.” Vosen sketched out the details of what was known to have happened in Berlin and the rumors that were coming out of Moscow.

“What are our liabilities?” the Director asked and wished for the millionth time he hadn’t given up smoking.

“I’ve just checked, and with the one exception, all the Treadstone assets are dead. Manheim who was stationed in Hamburg died in an auto accident on his way home from his last mission, in Paris, two years ago.” Noah’s research led to the conclusion that Ward Abbott had had the man terminated. He’d dug a bit deeper and discovered it was because Abbott had used him to assassinate Alexander Conklin. There was a brief footnote on the file that indicated Manheim was the first kill credited to Blackbrier. “Bourne took out Günter in Munich yesterday.”

“It seems he hadn’t lost any of his skills.” It was unexpected. Someone who had been in hiding for over two years shouldn’t have had the ability to take out an active contract agent who had equal and current training.

“Ezra, I don’t doubt for a minute the man is dangerous, but I’m not sure how much of a liability he to us. It’s clear from the transcript of Abbott’s tape that Bourne still has amnesia. Even if his memory returned, he’s been unstable for too long to have any credibility.” In New York the deputy director looked out at the night sky. He’d been manipulating his boss for years and knew exactly when to come on strong and when to pull back in order to get the response he wanted.

“I want him dead.” Kramer didn’t like loose ends. Credible or not, the man could come back to haunt them.

“I agree. It would be our wisest course of action.” He smiled at his reflection in his window high above the city. This was getting too easy. Lately Ezra Kramer was taking all the challenge out of the power game.

“Who else is there?” Things were getting too complicated. Ezra had always believed that the only way to keep a secret was to tell no one. Before this was finished he planned on being the only person alive who knew anything of substance about Treadstone. 

“Dr. Albert Hirsch is here in New York and Neal Daniels in Spain. Hirsch has as much to lose as we do if this comes to light.” Vosen dug through his files to verify information before he went on. 

“What about the girl, the handler?” the Director questioned. “What’s her story?”

“Nicolette Parsons,” Noah provided her name. “She’s 28, no family, father unknown, mother died in 2000. It says here an aneurism. The girl has been with us for five years. Conklin recruited her when she graduated from Columbia with a master’s degree in forensics psychology.”

“Kinda young for that, wasn’t she?” He quickly did the math and it didn’t add up.

“According to her file she has an eidetic memory and a facility for languages. There’s a notation here that she skipped some grades, along the way, but it doesn’t say which ones.” Vosen paged though her file trying to find out exactly why she’d been chosen when older more experienced personnel were available. “Ahhh…here it is,” he muttered. “Her thesis was titled ‘The Killer Among Us – The Normal Life Of A Professional Assassin’.”

“It sounds like she would have been exactly what Alex was lookin’ for, bright, no prior loyalties, a background in psychology, and no relatives too ask any questions if she disappeared. That paper of hers would have been the hook that made him bite.” Kramer knew that something didn’t feel right, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. “The age thing still bothers me.”

“Conklin used that to his advantage. Her cover was an American student in Paris. Her first three years were spent there with Treadstone. She was Bourne’s contact and monitored all the men’s mental health.” Noah leaned back in his chair and quickly read over the details of those final days in Paris, two years ago. “Shit,” he muttered. 

“Don’t tell me she was the same one who was at the Safe House that last night?” The Director ground his teeth. It was a useless question. No one else could have been there and it would have been her job to help dismantle the Treadstone Hub. The knowledge didn’t help to silence the warning bell that was going off in his head. 

“She was,” Vosen whispered and waited for the inevitable explosion on the other end of the line. 

“God damnit, how the hell was that missed?” the Director’s voice was filled with quiet anger. “With a photographic memory she knows too damn much.” 

“I’m not sure how much Abbott knew. Conklin played it close to the vest. Both men wanted it that way. We’re just putting together all the facts after two years. At the time, Ward was busy directing clean-up in Paris from Washington, while dealing with the Senate Budget Committee…” his voice trailed off as he went over Landy’s preliminary report a second time. 

“There’s more, what aren’t you telling me?” 

“I was afraid of that,” Noah cleared his throat and read a bit further. “It’s the same girl. Abbott had them take Parsons with them to help with the hunt. According to Pamela Landy’s prelim, Bourne grabbed Nicky in Berlin. There is a transcript of the partial conversation between them, before her wire went dead. The gist of it is that he threatened her at gun point…while denying the hit six days earlier.”

“Hmmm interesting…” Ezra Kramer’s mind began running down a new path. “They were stationed together in Paris for three years?”

“They were there at the same time, but not…together.” Vosen looked quickly through files he’d taken from Conklin’s safe, but couldn’t find a shred of incriminating evidence. He was left staring at a photo of Nicky Parsons. “Besides have you seen this girl? She looks like somebody’s sister.”

“I know,” Ezra’s voice rumbled over the line. He had pulled up her information on his computer and was examining the same photo Vosen was. “She sure isn’t the fuck-me type these guys were supposedly programmed to use to take care of their…needs,” he grunted at the euphemism. God, how he hated woman’s lib, and the necessity to pretty-up his language to be politically correct.

“Well according to Bourne’s psych profile his…needs…were being taken care of on a regular basis.” Noah Vosen knew that an agent’s sex life was an indicator of his mental health, but he was a tidy man who found it offensive to think that somewhere, in some file, there was a check box next to his name that kept a monthly tab on the propriety of his copulations. 

“Jesus, I’d have liked to have been a fly on the wall when Ms Prim and Proper had to ask those questions.” He grinned wickedly. If a woman wanted to do a man’s job then she had to ask a man’s questions. “Any recordings?” 

“Ah…no, Sir.” 

“I’ve gotta ask myself why he let her live. Jason Bourne is a trained killer and had her at gunpoint twice. If he wasn’t fucking her what the hell happened!” In Ezra Kramer’s mind it still didn’t answer the question. He had too many good memories of hot sweaty adrenaline driven sex. It had always had a slight taste of danger, which made it almost addictive. Though he’d bet that Noah Vosen with his picky attitude had never indulged in any of the seamier pleasures that one could take so easily when in the field.

“She’s not the only person Bourne left alive who he would have been wiser to kill.” The Deputy Director in New York City was damned if he’d admit to knowing who really terminated Conklin, even if the line was secure. “Maybe he didn’t view her as a threat,” he offered. His boss was thinking old school and there was no use arguing the matter. Female personnel weren’t put in place to simply satisfy the prurient needs of the field agents anymore. They had real jobs with real meaning.

“Bullshit! The woman has an eidetic memory and ran his life for almost three years. She was plenty dangerous to him. Nicky Parsons should be dead!” He didn’t care if they’d been screwing or not. There was something about her that attracted Bourne and that was all that was important. “Where’s she stationed now?”

“She has been in Amsterdam for two years. What do you have in mind?”

“Reassign her. Have her sent to Neal Daniels in Madrid.” The more he thought about it the better he liked the idea. Daniels was their only other weak spot, keeping them together made things easier all the way around. “One way or another we use her as bait. If he comes after her hunting, that’s one less problem for us, and we’ll get Jason Bourne. If he comes after her for other reasons, well, we’ll get them both, anyway.”

“What about Pamela Landy?” Vosen had never liked the woman and he wasn’t sure how much she really knew.

“Keep her on the periphery we’ll be able to use her if this goes sideways.”  
…………………………………….  
Bourne shivered in the dark as he hid in a shed behind a factory in Moscow. He hurt all over and there was a deep throbbing in his side where he’d sutured his injury. He was running a fever and the aspirins he’d taken earlier weren’t doing much to keep it under control. He curled into a tight ball and closed his eyes. Sleep was what he needed. Tomorrow he’d find some food and a change of clothes before he caught a train heading east.

His only thought was that he had to keep going. He focused on Paris and Marie’s brother Martin who lived there. He owed the younger man the truth about what had happened to his sister. Now that he had an objective, a mission, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Hours later the dream hit him. It was warm and familiar and something to hold onto as he fought the fever.

_It wasn’t quite dawn, but the deep black of night had changed to dark gray on the other side of the curtains drawn tight across his bedroom window. Far below, Paris was about to wake-up. He’d gotten up earlier than usual and went to make coffee. He walked quietly back into the bedroom. Smiling gently, he gazed at the woman sprawled across his bed on her stomach, pretending to sleep. Long, thick dark golden hair was strewn across her face and his pillow. Her creamy unblemished shoulders and back sloped down to meet the sheet at her slim waist. One fine-boned hand was flung out across the bed._

_He ran his palm over his breastbone remembering the soft weight of her fingers curled against his chest on waking. As much as he wanted to slide out of the pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips and crawl back into bed, his training told him no. There was something he needed to do first, but he couldn’t remember what it was._

_“Jason,” her voice was filled with sleep as she felt the empty space beside her._

_“Time to wake-up.” He put one knee on the mattress and caressed the sleek skin between her shoulder blades. It was almost dawn. Soon they would no longer be off the grid. There would be no hiding in the light. He had to remember what he needed to do that was so important!_

_“You have wonderful hands,” she sighed and arched into his touch._

A car backfired and Bourne was instantly awake. He reached for his weapon and crept to the nearest exit before he realized that he was safe. He hadn’t been discovered. It had only been noise from the street. 

Hours later as he waited for a train, he realized that he’d had the dream again, or maybe he’d dreamt that he’d had a reoccurring dream. He was never sure which it was. Was the woman in his bed in Paris something that he dreamt over and over again or was she a figment of his imagination that was caught in another of those endless loops that all led back to his Treadstone training? Most frustrating of all, was the fact that no matter which it was, he was never able to remember anything about her except her hair. 

Everything in him wanted to believe it was Marie in that bed; to believe that sometime between that day he and Marie had spent almost an hour in his Paris apartment and eight months later when he’d found her again, his mind had invented that moment. 

He changed trains three times to be sure he wasn’t being followed and avoided the high-speed rail service all of Europe was known for, in favor of local commuter trains. His destination was Minsk, Belarus and then on across Poland to Germany and finally France. He had no way of knowing which countries, if any, were looking for him. Boarder crossings were when his identification would come under the closest scrutiny. He’d mapped out a long circuitous route that would take him through small towns and if he stayed on schedule, he would cross the boarders at night when officials were tired and less observant.

His train finally crossed into Poland and he relaxed enough to be able to sleep for longer than a few minutes at a time. It had been six days since that night in the shed in Moscow and twice that since India, when he’d gotten his last full night of rest. He was moving on autopilot in basic survival mode when he closed his eyes and gave in to his body.

Hours later he moved through the dream, which had been haunting him recently. The bump and grind of the small train coming into the station woke him. Unlike previous times, he knew what he’d dreamt but with each passing second, it faded, until there was almost nothing left but the feel of a woman’s warm body and long blonde hair. 

He dug through the small pack he carried with him and made a quick note on the paper his dinner sandwich had come wrapped in. His hand froze as he gripped his pencil. He could hear Marie’s voice as if she were sitting beside him.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Goa, India – 2006_

“Wake-up, Jason,” Marie spoke calmly as she gently ran her hand over his shoulder. She’d learned quickly that the easier he woke-up, the quicker he realized where he was. “You’re dreaming, wake-up.”

“Ahhh!” he gasped as he levered quickly off the bed, his body turning as he reached under his pillow for the weapon. The first thing he noticed was bright morning light that filtered in around the curtains. Then he heard the sound of the ocean in the distance. “India, we’re in India.”

“Yes, we are and we’re safe, Jason, safe.” She sat beside him on the bed and pulled his head down to her shoulder. “How bad was it this time?”

“No, no, I…wasn’t dreaming.” He was confused, his mind was a blank, but there was something just beyond his reach. The harder he tried to recall it, the more frustrated he became. “I was just sleeping.”

Marie didn’t argue with him, though she knew the signs of a nightmare. She also knew that he wouldn’t lie to her deliberately, not about this. She was well aware that he kept things from her, and she hated that it was part of his personality, but she had to accept it or leave him. Whatever had been going on in his sleeping mind was lost for the time being. With luck it would come back. There were times when she pushed him to remember, but this wasn’t one of them. His distress was too close to the surface. 

Jason spent the day cleaning, first his weapons and then the house, which had just been cleaned the day before. Everything had to be in order, nothing out of place. He checked and rechecked the windows and doors, always looking for faces that shouldn’t be there. Finally, before he drove them to a screaming match, he changed his clothes and went for a long run on the beach. 

They’d eaten dinner and were enjoying a spicy cup of chai when a light flashed behind his eyelids. It flashed again and he saw the blonde woman sleeping on her stomach in his bed in Paris. Then it was gone, but he finally knew what had caused Marie to waken him that morning. He got up and pulled out the notebook where he’d been writing the snatches of memories and dreams that haunted him.

“What, what is it?” Marie looked concerned. “You remembered something?”

“Not really.” He shook his head. “But you were right this morning, I had been dreaming. It was about Paris.”

“Something new?” she couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. His life there fascinated her. It shouldn’t have but it did. She knew he had done terrible things when living there. He’d been a trained killer. She’d seen the proof and lived with the results everyday. Maybe that was what interested her about his past. It was what drove her to help him remember. Here with her, he was stripped clean of all but the most basic elements of civilized man. He would sleep, eat, and work-out. They had long nights of intense sex, but they couldn’t grow, until he did more than just exist. Occasionally the other Jason Bourne would peek out, the one who had lived in the huge apartment, the one who had a life beyond hiding and fear. She needed that man to return, before they could have a future together. 

“No, the same old one,” he murmured and tried to focus on what he’d seen moments ago.

“Oh,” she fought to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She had her own theory about this particular dream, but had yet to convince him of it. Marie attempted one more time as she moved the book aside on the desk and slide her arms around him from the back, letting her long blonde hair fall over his shoulder. “Ya know, Jason, Freud said ‘sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.’ Maybe the same is true about dreams?” 

“What, that they’re a cigar?” He gave her a lop-sided grin, his black mood from earlier broken. He knew where she was going with this and hoped she was correct. 

“No silly.” She tried to look indignant, but was too happy that he was smiling again. “I know we weren’t in your apartment for very long, but we were there together. If we hadn’t been interrupted…” She caught her breath when she thought about the man with the gun and the fear he’d caused. She refused to recognize how much like Jason he had been.

“Marie,” he whispered and pulled her around until she was sitting on his lap. His finger traced over the intricate curves of the tattoo she had on her shoulder.

“No, let me finish….You know as well as I do, that we probably would have ended up in your bed. Besides I like the idea that you dream about me, even if you can’t remember it.” Something in her needed to believe she was the faceless woman in his dream.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A local commuter train in Poland – 2007_

The pencil snapped in Jason’s fingers. He shivered when he thought about his apartment in Paris. It had been strange and barren. Nothing about it had made him feel comfortable except…the kitchen? He almost laughed out loud when he remembered slowly walking through that room, touching pans and surfaces as if they were a key to who he was.

He pictured Marie in his arms in bed. They’d had sex in too many bedrooms to count, in their time together. He could see her in each and every one of them, but each time he forced his mind to place her in his bed in Paris, his stomach clenched. He shook himself and closed his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him. He was blinded by a flash of white light that filled his vision, as it cleared he saw long blonde hair strewn across his pillow and his hand moving over a creamy white shoulder and arm.

“Oh, God,” he gasped, as he was filled with certainty. The woman in his dream lacked Marie’s distinctive tattoos. He knew in that moment that if he’d discovered that piece of information when she was still alive, he’d never have told her about it. It made her too happy to think that he dreamt about her. There had been a lot he hadn’t been able to give her, but that would have been within his power. 

Jason changed trains again and ate a breakfast he hardly tasted. He couldn’t pull his mind away from what he’d just learned. The woman was a key to who he really was and he believed if he found her, he could find the man beneath the killer, but first he had a job to do. He was going hunting!


	3. Counting The Cost

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_All I know is’ I’m lost,_  
 _And I’m counting the cost,_  
 _My emotions are in a spin!_  
 _I don’t know who to blame_ … Dangerous Game – from Jekyll & Hyde

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_Tangier, Morocco – January, 2008_

As the bus pulled out of the station, Nicky Parsons slumped in her seat. She was numb. It felt as if her physical world was moving in slow motion. Her feelings were left frozen in a café where she and Jason Bourne had stopped for coffee halfway between Madrid and the Strait of Gibraltar. Rational thought was lost in the twists and turns of the back alleys of Tangier. With fingers that shook, she side her sunglasses on her face and waited for her mind, body and emotions to catch up. She was terribly afraid that once that happened, she would crumple as she had when she was left alone in a cold room under Alexanderplatz Station, six weeks earlier. But this time there was no locked door to hide behind.

She could remember Jason’s voice from years ago as he’d said, ‘Ya gotta keep it together, remember that, Babe, no matter what happens, never fall apart, especially in public.’

‘I’m trying. I really am,’ she thought and stared out her window in hope of catching one last glimpse of him, but he was gone, as she knew he would be. She was left watching the empty place on the platform where he’d been moments earlier and tried not to acknowledge the emptiness that threatened to close in around her. She was on the run, off the grid and now very much alone. 

Nicky wished she could pinpoint the exact moment in the last few weeks when her life had become surreal. It was too much, too much. She remembered thinking that same thought in the storage closet in Berlin, but this time refused to give in to it. That way led to tears and loss of control, none of which she could afford right now. Her chin rose and a look of determination crossed her face. Maybe she was better off if she kept her feelings locked away, at least for the time being. 

The bus moved slowly through heavy afternoon traffic. Through the open window, she heard a background buzz of Arabic highlighted by honking horns. Nicky was on her way to Ceuta, one of the Spanish owned cities along the North African coast. The plan had been for her to head out from there, to lose herself in one of the many ports of the Mediterranean and the countries beyond. She figured she had approximately twelve hours before the CIA realized it had been fooled and discovered it was their assassin who had been killed in a bathroom in Tangier, not Bourne or her. Time was running out and she had to keep moving. She’d publically crossed the line when she’d thrown in her lot with Jason and helped him escape in Madrid. The false messages she’d sent diverting Daniel’s killer would be tracked back to her, as well. There was no doubt in her mind that sometime in the next eighteen hours another kill order would be placed and her name would be on it as well as Jason Bourne’s. 

Before the Wombosi mission, she’d created false identities, slowly liquidated her American assets, laundered the proceeds through untraceable CIA connections and carefully bought Swiss notes and gold bullion. Her funds had been stored in a safe deposit box in Zürich. Nicky had gone through the motions to give Jason peace of mind. She'd never believed it was necessary but he’d needed to know she had an escape route if things went bad.

After Paris, and the destruction of Treadstone, she’d understood why he’d been so insistent. Someday the powers-that-be were going to look in her direction and realize that she knew too many hidden secrets to be left alive. When that time came, she had to be able to drop off the grid and stay lost or die. So she’d begun the process of changing her assets into Swiss francs, and enough Euros to live on for a few months. As much as she hated the idea of exchanging the gold, it increased her mobility to have cash. Since it was evident the agency had a source in the bank where Jason had kept his funds Nicky had moved hers to a safe deposit box at the main branch of Banca d’Italia, under a different identity. 

In the six weeks since Berlin, Nicky had spent the time waiting and watching. She’d known her time was running out. But looking back on all the careful preparation over the last four years, she realized she’d left out one important detail. She’d never really believed that when the time came for her to run, that she’d be doing it by herself. Her heart had always believed that Jason would be by her side. Instead he had sent her on her way and he’d gone hunting.

He’d been after Neal Daniels when he’d arrived in Madrid, not looking for her, so what else should she have expected?—

_‘Don’t think about it, don’t think about him or what a nightmare the last twenty-four hours has been.’_ She clenched her teeth to bite down on her emotions. With a shake of her now dark hair, she forced her thoughts away from their conversation in the café outside of Gibraltar; away from the careful man, the observant man, the one who had been chasing his past for two years, but who had looked away and pulled back, rather than examine clues that might lead to his previous life which involved her.

_‘This isn’t helping,’_ she chided herself. She needed to plan ahead, but kept wondering where Jason was going. What he would do when he got there was a forgone conclusion. She looked at her reflection in the bus window and squarely faced her dilemma. She had to know how this all ended, that he was all right, that he survived. Then she would drop off the grid. 

Her sharp mind and excellent memory quickly sorted facts. The debacle that had been Treadstone was already being hinted at in the news. One small push in the right direction and it was going to split wide open. She knew that Bourne planned on doing a hell of a lot more than pushing. In seconds her mind was made up. She would head for Palma, the largest city in Majorca. The island was a perfect place to hide temporarily. It was Spanish, full of tourists, especially young ones, and had daily broadcasts of MSNBC. She wouldn’t get twenty-four news like she could, if she were in America or Canada, but most of Europe had daily updates of that station. She would watch from there.  
…………………………………..

_New York – January 2008_

He hit the water so hard it took his breath away. It felt good to let go, to just float in the cold depths. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he’d done it before. He could feel the throb of pain from a bullet wound growing numb as time slowed and it became difficult to think. 

A flash of white light sparked behind his eyelids. He could see her, the woman from his dream. Her long blonde hair was still covering her face as she lay across his bed, and her hand reached out for him, imploring him to take it. It was a hand he knew. It was familiar and for some reason he could see it curled around his hands…his hands with bloodied knuckles and broken skin….

Emotion surged through his body and he kicked out, fighting his way to the surface. His lungs burned from lack of oxygen. He was almost there, he could do it and then he did, as he gasped for air. Along with the air, parts of his memory returned. He knew who he was, or who he had been, but the rest was still blank. 

He was, or thought he was, David…David Webb. He shook his head and refused to let his mind dwell on the still lost memories of most of his life as Jason Bourne. With swift sure strokes he swam through the fridged water of the East River. The current was strong, but he moved though it at a diagonal. He knew he’d been shot in the thigh. He’d felt the bullet’s impact, but his limbs were growing numb from the cold. If he didn’t make shore soon, he’d be swept out to sea. 

Luck was with him, the tide was out. There were patches of rock and concrete at the base of the retaining wall to FDR drive. They gave him something to grab onto. He climbed out of the water, shook himself and kept right on going. He was Webb now, but it was Bourne’s instincts that keep him alive. He closed his mind to the pain and cold and made his escape.

An hour later, curled in the basement of an old building, wearing dry clothes he’d stolen from a small retail sporting goods store, he fell asleep. His last thought was that he was Webb and glad the memories he had of Bourne began when French fishermen had pulled him out of the Mediterranean. 

He slept soundlessly until just before dawn, when he moaned and turned in his sleep trying to pull away from the dream that was filling his mind. Desire heated his blood and his body responded. He wanted desperately to go back to bed and the woman who had curled in arms all night long. With a sigh, David gave up the battle and dreamt Jason’s dream…. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he walked from the kitchen into his bedroom in Paris, he knew it was early, not yet dawn. With a smile on his lips, he watched the slim blonde woman pretend to sleep. She lay on her stomach, with her face buried against his pillow, her arm flung out and her hair trailing over her cheek and brow. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her pale skin shimmered in the setting moon, against his deep blue sheets.

“Jason,” her voice was groggy as she held out her hand for him.

“Time to wake-up.” He rested a knee on the mattress and caressed her naked back.

“You have such wonderful hands,” she sighed and arched into his touch.

“We need to talk…” He frowned, unsure what was going on. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her hand resting in his. Suddenly he felt like he was an observer as well as a participant in the dream. Something was wrong; this wasn’t how it went!

“I know, I’m sorry…we agreed…” Nicky Parsons turned over and pulled the sheet to her chin as she interlocked his fingers with hers.

“Noooo….” 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_New York – January 2008_

“No!” David who had been Jason gasped as he shook himself awake in a cold basement in New York. “Marie, it should have been Marie!” he cried in anguish. He’d known for weeks that the woman in his dream wasn’t the one who’d died in India, but this was too much. The discovery he’d just made filled his mind with flickering images that he wanted to deny, but couldn’t…..

……..the way he couldn’t stop looking at Nicky, with her long blonde hair and tailored sweater suit, when he’d confronted Conklin at the Safe House two years ago…..

………his anger and need to get off the gird. The bits and pieces he’d learned about his life, but couldn’t defend because his memory only went back three weeks. But even with his need to run, he was choked with the thought that he was leaving something essential behind……

……..dark eyes that begged him for recognition, as he left her alone in the Safe House with Treadstone falling down around her head…..

………the shock that had been like a tiny electrical charge, making him pull back and take his finger off the trigger, as he recognized the slim short-haired blonde woman caught in the scope of his Sig Sauer 3000 as she stood beside Pamela Landy in Berlin…..

………the overwhelming need to be with that woman, to touch her and talk to her, even as he grieved for Marie All the time he told himself it was only to get information…..

……….anger that had burned inside of him as he shoved Nicky against the wall and shouted at her. The need to hold Marie’s name between them as he made the girl cry when he had his weapon pressed to her head……

………the tiny voice inside of him that had taunted him with the sure knowledge that no matter what happened he could not pull the trigger…..

………the sorrow on her face as she stared across a desk in Madrid and met his eyes when he once again pointed his 9mm Glock at her…..

……….sitting in a café, in southern Spain, her silences had said more than her words. The way her eyes looked into his, and the dead tone in her voice when she asked him, “You don’t remember anything do you?”…..

……..his refusal to delve any deeper, though he knew he should. The sudden need to look away, unable to see the pain in her eyes or ask the questions that hung between them…… 

………the fear and fierce need to protect her when he realized that she was being chased through the alleys of Tangier……

……….her hand as it covered his bloody knuckles, sitting in a cheap rented room…..

……….her hand as it had appeared in his dream……

…….....her hand…… 

“Nicolette?” her name tumbled from his lips and made him shudder. It meant something, but God it hurt to believe that it did…that she did. Part of him wanted to insist his discovery was a hallucination, or something rooted in his imagination, created because he’d been with her so recently, but he couldn’t. There were too many clues to be ignored. Sometime in the past, when he’d lived in Paris, they had been lovers. How and what it meant he wasn’t sure. 

When he’d been in Moscow he’d swore he’d find the woman in his dream, but now since he knew her identity it felt like a betrayal to Marie’s memory. He’d already betrayed her enough. Maybe there was a compromise? There was one thing he could do for Nicky that wouldn’t touch Marie. It would be dangerous, but the more he thought about it, the greater the need grew inside of him.  
……………………………..  
Pamela Landy was exhausted. She’d been up all night, tying up loose ends, and doing damage control on a story that she would have rather had shouted from the rooftops. It was ten in the morning and she had to pack for her afternoon flight home, to Washington D.C. She walked the few blocks to her hotel, but she couldn’t make herself hurry. Something was nagging at the back of her mind. She’d missed something, but didn’t know what it was. When she rounded a corner, a man gently bumped against her arm and the purse that hung over her shoulder. It startled her and she automatically turned taking a step toward him to defend herself if need be. But he never looked back or to the right or the left. He simply went on as if she didn’t even exist. Her first thought was, ‘Yeah, that’s right, I’d forgotten I’m in New York, the city of rude and rushed…’ But there was something about the set of his shoulders and the way he held his head that was familiar.

“Jason?” she whispered as she reached into her bag. She knew she would either discover that her wallet had been stolen or….”Yes,” she murmured as her fingers closed around a cell phone that hadn’t been there moments earlier.

Even as she was thinking about it, the phone rang in her hand. “Landy, here,” she answered quietly.

“You still look tired, Pam. I thought I suggested that you should get some sleep?”

“Yeah, well that was before we met face-to-face. Since then I’ve been kinda busy.” She looked around and didn’t see him anywhere, but knew he couldn’t have gotten far. “What’s this all about, Ja—David? Playing phone tag is getting old.”

“I need to stay dead.”

“That takes seven years without a body. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather come back in?” 

“You and I both know that isn’t a good idea.” He was guilty and would deserve any punishment they gave him, but they had to catch him first.

“You were drugged. Your mind had been tampered with. Conklin and Abbott used you for their own gain.” She tried to convince him that he would be safe. “We’ve got documentation to prove it.” 

“So I should plead innocent by reason of insanity? I don’t think so, Pam. I’ve already spent enough time letting them play with my brain.” He looked off into the distance and finally voiced his real worry. “Once they’re through with Blackbrier, they’ll be after anyone who had anything to do with Treadstone. My coming in will make them want to dig deeper, sooner”

“Ahh…” suddenly she heard the words he wasn’t saying. He knew, like she did, that eventually Nicky Parsons would be dragged into all this. The fact that the girl was on the run only served to make her look guiltier to people who didn’t know the secrets beneath the system. “I’ll do what I can to keep her name out of it.” If she expected a response on the other end of the phone, she didn’t get one so she went on. “But there have been whispers in the press about Jason Bourne. That reporter who was killed in London didn’t help matters. I can’t give you any guarantees about either of you.”

“I understand.” It was as close as he came to admitting that some of his actions weren’t purely self-motivated. “I need a favor. It would be easier to get out of the country if you could keep me clear of it for a few days.” It wasn’t true. He came and went, when and where he pleased, that was one skill he remembered, but the less anyone in authority know about it the better. “After that I need a message sent.”

“What kind of message?” 

“Give me two, maybe three days and then leak it to the press that my body was never found. That should be enough.” 

“David…’

“I’ve got to go. Keep the phone. You never know when it might ring.” 

“Wait, just tell me that she’s safe,” but her words were wasted, the line was dead. Pamela Landy felt old and dirty as she pocketed the cell and walked slowly through the doors to her hotel. Up until six weeks ago she’d loved her job and really believed she was doing some good, now she found herself in a mess of conspiracy and death. 

As she ran her keycard through the locking mechanism, with one hand and balanced a cup of coffee with the other, she had a moment of déjà vu. It was like it had been in the Westin Grand, Berlin, when she was standing in the corridor, waiting for a dark-eyed girl to open her door. ‘Nicky you’re better than anyone ever knew,’ Pam thought with a flash of insight. It hadn’t been Conklin who’d given Parsons the extra training, but Jason Bourne. 

For the first time in weeks the section chief smiled. She didn’t know what there had been between Parsons and Bourne but whatever it was, it had kept the girl alive and she had to believe that it would continue to do so.  
…………………………………  
Three days later Pam was making coffee in her kitchen in Georgetown when the early morning news began. She’d been getting questions about Bourne, from the press, each night when she left the Senate hearings, but she’d refused to talk about anything that was going on. Last night that changed, she’d instructed media relations to release a statement crediting David Webb as the source of the information behind Blackbrier and to state that he’d fallen ten stories into the East River three days earlier. His body had yet to be found.

“There, I hope that’s sufficient,” she whispered. Part of her wanted to believe that somewhere in the world a young woman with short, dark-blonde hair and even darker eyes was listening and found relief in what was being said.

“Pam, are you all right?” Jonathan Landy put his arms around his wife and kissed her temple.

“It’s been a rough few days and it’s not over yet.” She quickly blinked away tears that had threatened to fall and leaned against his reassuring weight. “I love you and I don’t think I’ve said it enough over the last few years. You’ve made it possible…well, knowing that you love me and are here for me has kept me grounded and human in a world that too often is inhuman and cruel.”

“Hey, now, what’s this all about?” He swept his fingers through her hair. He’d loved his wife for every moment of their twenty-year marriage, but recently she’d become more and more the agent. “I know you can’t tell me what really happened in New York, but whatever it was, I’m glad it gave me back the woman I married.”

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been since Jenny left for college a year ago.” Like so many of the women she knew who worked in male dominated careers she’d applied extra energy to her job in an effort to turn empty nest syndrome into feathering the professional nest. No one was going to accuse tough, hardnosed Pamela Landy of acting like a mom missing her daughter. “I became too focused on my work and took you for granted.”

“Well you’re back now.” He could see that she was still upset and wasn’t sure how to help her. It was hard being with a woman whose job forced her to keep secrets, but he’d known that was part of the deal when he’d married her. “I’m not sure I’ve ever told you, but I’ve always been very proud of you.” He nodded to the TV and the continued coverage of Noah Vosen and Albert Hirsch’s arrests and the possible indictment of Ezra Kramer. “But never more so than now.”

“Promise me, that no matter what happens, you won’t let me forget how important you are to me?” As the words spilled out, she froze, suddenly sure that was what had happened to Jason Bourne. When he’d lost his memory, he’d forgotten the one person who made him whole and complete. There wasn’t a shred of proof in any of the files, not even a hint that his relationship with Nicky Parsons had been anything but professional. Over the last few years, fate kept bringing them together. Pam wasn’t a romantic by nature, but she had to believe it had been for some reason and she hoped it was a better one than death and deception.  
………………………………… 

David Webb sat in a dark corner of a small waterfront bar in Marseilles. He was dressed in the rough clothes of a fishermen with a cap pulled low on his forehead and a three day growth of stubble. He was drinking harsh local wine and eating an early dinner of fish and cheese when the news caught his attention. No one else appeared to care that the Americans had another scandal in their CIA, or notice that a trained killer was sitting in their midst. The men in the bar had more important concerns, like the weather, how their local soccer team was doing, and the fluctuating price of fish. 

He sat for over an hour, after the MSNBC broadcast, to be sure that no one was watching him. When he left, he cut down an alley and waited, but he wasn’t followed. Landy had done as he’d asked, but what in the hell had he been thinking when he’d made the request? His mind had been too full of that odd dream about Nicky Parsons and he’d acted foolishly.

Nicky…His reasoning had been clear in New York, but what he’d done went against all his training. Something inside of him had needed to let her know he was still alive. He’d called it a compromise, but it went deeper than that. He shook his head at how dangerous it had been. The rash action on his part was a threat to them both and it was one more reason he was angry with her. It was bad enough that she’d withheld her knowledge of his past, the last time he’d seen her. A little voice inside of him tried to tell him that he hadn’t wanted to hear anything she had to say, but he squished it. Anger and frustration had been his constant companions since Marie’s death. He wasn’t about to let them go, they protected him against feelings he didn’t understand and didn’t want.

It was hard enough dealing with the sudden return of chunks of his memory, without having to deal with emotions too. He was David Webb, but as hard as he tried to be that man, the name didn’t fit. Memories before he’d been Bourne were like a story he had read in a book. He knew that Nicky was the bridge between his past and his present. That knowledge added resentment to his anger. She’d known the killer who he couldn’t or didn’t want to remember.  
…………………………………  
Nicky Parsons was in her usual spot in a touristy café in Palma. Majorca had been a good choice. The weather had been unseasonably warm, so the island had been mobbed with Europeans on holiday. It had been easy to hide among them. She was traveling under a Spanish passport, as Soledad Aguilar, a student from The University of Salamanca, who was taking some time off.

It had been three days since she arrived and she was getting restless, but she knew that she couldn’t move on until she knew where Jason’s trail had led him. The news broadcast broke into her thoughts and she looked up fascinated at what was happening in New York.

What she saw on the large screen made her feel lightheaded. He was alive, she was sure of it. She couldn’t stop the smile that accompanied the thought. Closing her book, she sat back and let the sensation wash over her. He had gotten away once again. Now she had to do her part and get away too. A stark shaft of loneliness marred her moment of joy. She shook her head and refused to let her emotions take control. There was still too much for her to do and too many miles for her to travel before she could rest.

The next morning she boarded the ferry for the mainland. She had purchased a train ticket to Salamanca, but wasn’t going to use it. When she arrived in Valencia she changed identities and destinations. Half an hour later she boarded a boat that would eventually take her to Rome, where she planned to spend the next few months lost among the hoards of artists trying to capture that city on canvas.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Rome – February 2008_

Nicky settled into a small two room flat. She purchased used art supplies carefully, never too many items from any one store. Everyday she headed out for the ‘old city’, where she’d set-up her easel and work with sketchpad, pencils and paints. She wore a large hat that protected her from prying eyes and the sun. She wore a bulky sweater to keep her warm, and add weight to her slight frame. Her baggy pants were dotted with paint and had been chosen more for ease of movement and warmth than style. She didn’t look anything like the tailored professional who had run the Safe House in Paris, nor the stylishly dressed young woman who’d worked as an analyst in Amsterdam and Madrid. Now she melted into the crowd of art students as if she belonged.

She smiled with pleasure as her pencil moved in quick sure strokes over the paper. She was drawing the rooftops of the city and felt at peace for the first time in a long while. It had been years since she’d had anything but a passing interest in art. When she was in elementary school, it had been a huge part of who she was. Then they’d discovered that she didn’t simply have a good memory, but an eidetic one. Her mother had placed her in a special school to be sure she didn’t let that talent go to waste. Her new classes may have fed her intellect, but they left no time for drawing. 

She sighed and smiled to herself, refusing to think about her childhood with sorrow. If she’d been studying art in Paris, instead of working on her PhD in psychology, it would have been necessary to leave that part of her behind her forever. As it was, by giving it up as a child, she could return to it now, safe in the knowledge that there was no record of that particular talent. She could use it to hide behind and help build a new life.

It took her three weeks of painting and watching her back-trail before she was comfortable enough to go to the bank where she had a safety deposit box. It had been two years since she’d been there, but she had funds and travel documents she needed to retrieve. Once that was done she would have complete control over when and where she would go next. 

The short dark-haired woman shivered as she entered the large double doors of Banca d’Italia. Her skin crawled and it felt as if there were a thousand eyes on her, but she knew it was her imagination.

Twenty minutes later she was sitting in a small private room and one of the clerks had brought her the locked box. With fingers that shook she turned the key and opened the lid. Her breath caught when she saw an unfamiliar bulky envelope wedged between her stacks of currency and passports. She recognized the handwriting on the address label. It was Jason Bourne’s. 

“Jason, what did you do?” she whispered as she dumped the contents onto the table in front of her. Tears filled her eyes and she had to brush them away to see. He’d left her three large stacks of Swiss francs, neatly banded together, a number of legal documents and a letter, which she immediately picked-up. 

 

_Nick,  
If you’re reading this, I’m dead --_

“No!” she gasped, “I won’t believe it. They didn’t find your body. You’re still alive, you have to be!” Her breathing was ragged as she fought emotions that were flooding her. She closed her eyes, rotated her head to the left and then the right and reached deep for the control he had taught her. Then she picked up the letter and began again.

_If you’re reading this I’m dead and you’re on the run. Remember everything I taught you. It will keep you alive and safely off the grid._

_Over the last eighteen months, you’d never allow me to give you anything except a weapon and advice. I need more than that. I need to know that you’ll be safe when I’m no longer there. Call me selfish if you like, but I want you to have the contents of this envelope._

_Along with the money, there is a deed to a property in Positano, Italy. I purchased it in the name of Jean-Paul and Colette Benoit. It was a cash transaction that cannot be traced. There is a large olive grove on the land behind the house, which turns a tidy profit. It has paid for the upkeep over the years when no one has lived there._

_Jean-Paul’s death certificate is among the legal documents. It will allow you to live the life of a single woman and maintain the guise of a widow. It’s one more layer of protection to keep you hidden and off the grid._

_Everything that I’ve left you was mine. I was careful to separate my personal and professional identities, and funds. There is nothing here that was used by that other man, the one you tried so hard to protect me against._

_There’s so much more I would have liked to have given you, but it appears that we’ve run out of time._

_Be happy and live for both of us,_

_J_

The letter was dated a week before Jason left Paris on the secret mission that she later realized had been an attempt to kill Wombosi. Nicky didn’t want to think about the ramifications of the timing of the note. Her mind went blank as she calmly packed the contents of the box into the canvas tote she used to carry her art supplies. She was numb again, as she’d been on the bus leaving Tangier. Her world moved in slow motion and her emotions were tangled and lost somewhere in the past. Each breath she took felt new, as if she was learning to breathe all over again. It was hard to reconcile this man, her Jason, with the cold cruel man in Berlin and the strange quiet one in Madrid and Tangier.

On her way to her flat she stopped in the marketplace and bought some bread and cheese for dinner. Her stomach was tied in knots and she wasn’t hungry, but she knew she had to eat. She made her purchases quickly, unable to completely put aside the oppressive closeness of the tiny streets of Rome, or the crowds, which pressed in all around her. 

Later she crawled into bed, too exhausted to think about what to do next. Her options were endless, Jason had seen to that. Nicky fell into a restless sleep. She lost count of the number of times she would drift off and then suddenly jerk awake to find herself staring at her small travel clock sitting on the rickety table beside the bed. Finally about 3 am she fell into a deep sleep. That was when the dream hit her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was running through the back alleys of Tangier. The operative Desh was chasing her. She fought fear that was threatening to make her useless and kept on running, knocking over anything on either side of her that might slow him down. She ducked into doorways and ran up a flight of stairs….Suddenly everything changed and she was in Paris again…running through backstreets and hidden places. It was dark instead of blindingly bright. Instead of the chatter of angry Arabic in the background, she heard a saxophone from far away. It was playing the slow, sad, song ‘Smoke Gets In Your Eyes’. She looked over her shoulder and instead of Desh, Jason Bourne was three feet behind her. His eyes were frozen blue, glittering in the moonlight.

He slammed her against a wall and his lips covered hers. Desire ripped through her and she met him kiss for kiss as she tried to tell him about the killer on her trail. Then it didn’t matter because his hand had moved beneath her sweater and against her skin. Everything shifted slightly and where his warm hand had been, she felt cold steel pressed under her left breast. Desire gave way to fear when Jason pulled the trigger as she screamed his name…

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No!” she cried out. She woke shaking and covered in sweat. Her stomach heaved as she gagged and she ran for the small bathroom. She threw-up the small amount of food she’d been able to choke down the night before and kept on retching until she lay exhausted on the floor. “Oh God, oh God,” she muttered. It had finally caught up with her. She’d been wondering how long it would take before the emotional trauma of the last few months hit her like an out of control train.

Her body felt tied in knots from dry heaves, but she couldn’t go back to bed. In the last few minutes her room had begun to close in on her, like the city had been doing the night before. Breathing carefully through pursed lips she grabbed jeans and a heavy sweater and climbed out her window, up the fire escape to the roof.

She sat shivering in a dark corner, letting the breeze blow through her hair while she stared at the wide expanse of sky. The claustrophobia that had driven her into the chilly night loosened its hold and she began to relax.

“It was only a dream,” she repeated over and over to herself, but deep inside, she knew it wasn’t simply a dream. It was rooted in fact and enhanced by feelings. As the moon set, she let herself think about Paris and the first time she had to send Jason on a mission after they had become lovers…

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Paris, 2003_

Jason and Nicky had been together for two months. Their explosive beginning when he’d pushed her to the breaking point while practicing with her Glock Compact outside of Paris had never stopped. They knew it was unprofessional and didn’t care. They new it was dangerous and took every precaution either of them could think of and made-up others along the way. They tried to call it sex, but both knew it was much more than that. They were hip deep in a love affair and closed their eyes to everything else but maintaining complete secrecy when together. 

The day Nicky had been dreading had finally come eighteen days earlier. She’d had to send him on a mission and it had been more difficult than she ever imagined it would be.

Two weeks later she received his mandatory check-in. It indicated his assignment was completed, but was nothing more than a coded text message. All of her instincts told her he was back in Paris, but the night before he’d left, he’d instructed her that she wasn’t to come looking for him. He would find her. Her nerves jumped, unsure of what she should do. She wanted to see him, to see for herself that he was all right. But more than that, she wanted to feel his body against hers. 

It was dark when she left work. She hadn’t gone more than ten steps from the door of the Safe House when she became aware of someone behind her. 

“Keep on going,” Jason, muttered as he drew along side. “Turn right at the end of the block. I’ll be waiting for you.” Then he passed her to move quickly on his way.

She watched his broad back disappear in the evening rush of people heading home and her heart soared. She followed his instructions, which led her down a small winding street, but didn’t see him anywhere. A cat meowed off to her right, but other than that it was quiet, almost deserted. She looked carefully around, but all she saw were shadows until he suddenly appeared before her. He put his arm around her and turned her quickly until her back was against the side of the building.

“Hi,” his voice was deep and slow as he ran both hands through her hair at the sides of her face.

“Hi, yourself,” she could hardly speak her heart was pounding so hard. “I’ve missed you.”

“I want to spend time with you, but first you need to understand.” He knew he wasn’t making much sense, but she needed to know what she was getting into, if they continued as they had been.

“Jason--” She frowned not sure what he had in mind.

“I’m going to give you a three minute head start.” He looked at his watch. “See if you can lose me.”

“You’re kidding?” 

“No, and you’re wasting time. You now have two minutes and 56 seconds.”

Nicky turned and fled. She felt the adrenaline pounding in her blood as she moved quickly out of the alley and down the next street. She was sure this was another one of his lessons, but she wished he could have waited. All she really wanted to do was be near him.

Their game of hide and seek started out as fun, but it didn’t take her long to realize it was a very serious game, and then it became terrifying. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, fear and desire tingled along her nerve endings each seeming to feed on the other. She began to wonder if he wasn’t taking her through some kinky form of foreplay. It certainly had the desired effect, though a good backrub was more to her taste.

Three times she tried to return to one of the well-lighted, busier streets, but each time she was driven away. Once she heard something snap as it was crunched under foot. Sure it was Jason, she wheeled around and headed back into the dark where she’d come from. Ten minutes later she could see a street light down the next block. As she headed toward it, a small potted plant fell to the ground fifteen feet to her left and she swerved the other way. Finally, she could hear the bustle and laughter of people on the next block. All she needed was to go down one small stretch of dark alleyway and she’d be with them, but she heard footsteps accompanied by an oddly chilling whistle. It was between her and the crowd. She turned and fled, completely lost and confused, no longer sure which way she should go.

Nicky stopped to catch her breath and tried to get her bearings. She could hear the wail of a blues sax coming from a window high above her. On two sides there were tall buildings beginning to fill with the sounds of people coming home from work. At her back was a high wooden fence. She was boxed in except for the way she’d come and a crooked little street that appeared to lead nowhere.

“This is ridicules,” she chided herself for the fear that was making her lose all sense of where she was and what she was doing. But words didn’t help; her hands still shook as she slowly walked toward her only untried option. To steady them, she dragged her fingers lightly against the brick building at her right shoulder and she picked up speed. The street had more twists and turns than she realized. Suddenly she was cut off from any light except from the stars and some windows high above her head. 

She screamed as she realized the feel of wool had replaced cool brick under her hand. An arm wrapped around her waist and a palm covered her mouth. She kicked and scratched, but the man wouldn’t set her free.

“Nicky,” a harsh whisper filled her ear. “It’s me.” 

“Jason,” she gasped as he turned her in his arms. She couldn’t stop shaking and held on tightly because her knees felt like rubber. “You frightened me,” she accused.

“I meant to. You need to know what the dangers are,” his voice was harsh. He’d killed too recently. Even as he inhaled her perfume, he remembered the scent of blood. What he’d meant as an object lesson for her had become real for him and toward the end he’d been hunting. All his senses were sharpened, colors brighter, needs intensified.

“Are you all right?” She caressed his cheek and her touch set him on fire.

“Come with me.” He gripped her hand and led her through the door he’d pushed her against. 

“Where are---” She was almost sure she knew where they were. If she was right, he’d herded her almost two miles by way of backstreets and alleys to his apartment.

“Quiet,” he warned as they soundlessly ran up the backstairs of his building. He quickly unlocked his door and shoved her into his hall. “Stay here,” he whispered as he relocked the deadbolt and pressed her against the wall beside the alarm box where he punched in his code.

He didn’t turn on lights, but she could see the hard blue glitter of his eyes as he slowly turned toward her. Something like fear and pain rushed through her when she realized that for one quick second she was looking at Jason Bourne the Treadstone asset. This was the man Conklin prized and if he had his way, this was the only version of Jason who would exist. 

“Are you all right?” she asked again, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew he wasn’t. He had slipped back behind his Paris mask, but it was thin and could crumple at any moment. 

“Who’s asking, the clinician or the woman?”

“Jason,” she gasped. “It’s not like that and you know it!”

“Are you so sure, Nicky?” His words were hard and cold as he pressed his body against hers. “Maybe it’s a bit of both?” He yanked her coat off her shoulders trapping her arms at her sides with the garment. “The psychologist is always looking and watching as the woman fucks the killer? It would make for an interesting study in the sexual appetites of an assassin.” 

“Are you crazy?” Her palms were flat against the wall as she struggled to get hold of her coat so she could pull free.

“There’s always that possibility,” he murmured as he ran the back of one knuckle lightly against her left nipple

“No!” she cried out. Desire shot through her and she arched, driving her hips against his. “No! Stop!” Tears filled her eyes as she looked into his frozen blue ones an inch away from hers. “You aren’t crazy, I won’t believe that.” She could see he knew exactly what he was doing to her body. “Please, Jason, this isn’t you.”

“Are you so sure?” he whispered as he dragged his lips against her ear. 

“Yes.” Nicky refused to meet violence with violence so she put it all on the line and did the only thing left to her. She worked her arms out of her coat and wrapped them around him with her face buried against his neck. She felt his body tremble against hers. 

“You’re wrong,” he growled and cupped her face so he was looking her in the eyes again. “You have to realize this is part of me too. I’m not kind or gentle. I’m what they made me into!” 

“That’s Conklin talking!” she shot back, her fingers curled around his wrists. “You’re more than that, much more.”

“Nicky, don’t push me, not now. You’ll only end up…end up…” He gritted his teeth and fought the almost overpowering need to take her. “Oh God, do you realize how close I came to hurting you.” He tried to pull away from her, but she wouldn’t let go. “Damnit, let go of me!”

“No.” She shook her head and held on tighter.

“Look at me! Don’t you see what I am?” His lips crushed hers beneath his; needing to taste and touch her all the while knowing it was a mistake.

She leaned into him nibbling at the corner of his mouth as his tongue swept deep into hers. She pulled at his coat until it landed on the floor at their feet.

“No, wait.” He pulled back, kissing her neck and ear. He had to catch his breath and give her a chance to know what was really inside him. “I should have waited a few more days, but damnit, I needed to feel your skin against mine. It’s not safe to be with me when I’m like this.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“This isn’t like before,” he tried one last time to explain. “I’m not who I was, when I pushed you too far that day target shooting. At times like this, control is all that keeps me in check. You make me want to forget all about control.”

“I know, and I don’t care.” Her blood pounded. He was back and still wanted her that was all that mattered.

“You should!” He gripped her shoulders to keep from stripping off her clothes and taking her where they stood. “You haven’t a clue what’s beneath the civilized veneer of the man who meets you every four weeks at the Safe House.” 

“Maybe not, but I know a lot about the man I’ve been sleeping with for the last two months and tonight, I’ve seen what lies beneath. He doesn’t frighten me.” She blinked tears of frustration and confusion out of her eyes, refusing to cry. “You don’t hurt women, Jason, no matter how dark or intense you get.”

“No, I just kill them!” His voice was bitter and his words shot through her. He was balancing on the edge between the killer and the man, but she had to see, she had to know what he was really like.

“We both do.” Nicky couldn’t stop her tears from running down her face as the truth came pouring out. “I’m as much to blame as you are, more so, if you think about it. I give others their assignments, not just you! I may not pull the trigger, but that doesn’t make me any less guilty.”

Deep blue eyes met dark, almost black ones. They were two people who killed, one by giving orders and one by following them. Fierce needs surrounded and filled them. In two swift movements he unzipped the back of her cashmere knit dress and pulled it over her head.

“Please, I want to feel your skin too,” Nicky’s voice was hoarse with desire. He pulled away from her and tossed his sweater beside her dress. Her fingers moved under his shirt as he unfastened her bra and slid his hands around until they were filled with her breasts.

“Oh yes,” she moaned and kicked off her shoes as his touch set her on fire. 

“No more,” he growled and pulled her down the hall. They made it as far as the kitchen. As he lifted her up on the cool surface of the counter, his hands slid down her body and pulled off her pantyhose. She reached for the hem of his shirt, but he was too impatient to pull it over his head. “I want you now.”

She reached for his belt and zipper, to set him free as he pulled off the scrap of lace she wore as panties. 

“I missed you,” she whispered and she ran her hands over his chest. He separated her thighs and pulled her closer.

“Hold on,” he warned as he held her slim shivering body against his. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and locked her arms around him. As he filled her, she cried out and shattered into a million pieces, but wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t stop moving and she wouldn’t have let him if he’d tried. They were driven by primitive needs that burned away anger, guilt and hurt. It left fertile ground for much more binding feelings to begin. 

Later, spent and sated, he carried her to bed. Once he’d undressed, he lay beside her and pulled her into his arm. As he gently kissed her, she looked at him and ran her hand over his face.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” her voice was raw and shook. “Don’t try to scare me away. If you want me gone, just tell me and I’ll go.” Tears filled her eyes.

“Hush, Nicolette, I’ve got you.” He pulled her closer. “It won’t ever happen again.”

And it didn’t. Nicky still sent him out on missions, but Jason was always careful. He made sure that the killer in him was back in his box, before he’d let her come to him. It was another of their unspoken rules. He’d return from an assignment and the first morning back, she’d see him at a distance, usually on one of the running paths. But he took the time he needed to become human again. 

Over the next year and a-half, they played escape and evade in any number of cities and small towns in Europe. Nicky was never able to completely lose him, but she learned a number of tricks along the way.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Rome – February, 2008_

Nicky had sat on her roof for hours remembering. It was a relief when darkness was driven away by gray low hanging clouds of very early morning. She still felt trapped, hemmed in by the city that was waking up six stories below her, but she was too cold to care. Exhausted she climbed down the fire escape and fell into bed.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Washington D.C. – 2008_

The Senate investigation into the CIA’s ‘alleged criminal activities’ dragged on through February and into March. As each day passed Pamela Landy felt more disheartened. Albert Hirsch died of a heart attack the night before he could be question by the Special Senate Committee Investigation. Noah Vosen and Ezra Kramer were indicted, despite trying to lay the blame at her door. They were the criminals but she felt like a prisoner. She was trapped in hearings when all she wanted was to get back to active duty. She’d made a career out of being invisible, now she was forced into the limelight and didn’t like it.

By the middle of March she faced the truth, she’d never be able to do undercover work again. She’d been offered Deputy Director in charge of the new Anti-terrorist Division that was growing out of the ashes of Vosen’s old New York teams. Acting Director Charles Jennenings was moving it back to Langley where he could keep a closer eye on its actions and felt she was the perfect person to take the lead.

In many ways it was a plum assignment. It kept her in the DC area, which was good for her marriage. Her husband had recently accepted the chairmanship of cardiac surgery at Georgetown University Hospital. It was something he’d wanted for a while. Though he was happiest when he was in the operating room, he now had a chance to shape a department. In many ways Pam was being given that same chance. She knew she could do a better job than Vosen and wanted time to prove it. She wanted to believe she could run a clean department and still get the job done. After all, what was the sense of fighting terrorism if they were reduced to committing the same crimes? 

The one thing she refused to think about was the cheap black cell phone hidden in the bottom of her purse. One day it would ring and David Webb would be on the other end. When that happened she didn’t know what she was going to do.  
……………………………………

_February, 2008_

David Webb worked his way down the coast of France and through Spain. He’d been traveling for three weeks. He was restless and moody. He spent his days in constant activity, but only slept a few hours each night. He would waken knowing he’d dreamt, but unable to remember what he’d been dreaming about.

Instinct left over from Jason Bourne told him he was safe, hidden, off the grid, but he had no more answers than when he’d left Marseille weeks earlier. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself he really was Webb, the name didn’t fit. It was ironic; he’d spent the better part of the last two years trying to remember who he was. Now that he did, he was more comfortable thinking of himself as Jason. But he couldn’t accept what it was rumored he’d done during the missing years. A little voice in his head told him that was why he still couldn’t remember all the pieces of the puzzle that were his life as an assassin.

He was confused. He missed Marie and all that she’d represented, but when he closed his eyes it was Nicky Parsons’ face that filled his mind. One night laying in the dark, trying to fall asleep he made himself look at every aspect of his life with Marie. Had she really loved him or were they two people with ruined lives who had clung together for support in an uncertain world?

“No, no, she really did care,” he muttered. He had been the one who had short-changed her. As much as he’d wanted to love her, he hadn’t been able to. Up until now he’d always thought it had been because he had to keep his mind free of entanglements so he was able to see danger if it came their way. But he’d almost missed the danger and Marie had died for his mistake. 

Lately he was haunted by fleeting memories: a laugh he could almost place; dark eyes that looked at him and knew who he was; a warm smile that accepted him in all his guises; and a slim lithe body that moved against his as they lived a secret life. As much as he needed that woman to be Marie to appease his conscience, he knew it wasn’t. It was Nicky Parsons.

By the middle of March he was trimmed down to muscle and bone, a man who hardly slept and only ate because his body needed feeding. That was when he began to dream about the sunlight. He would waken remember seeing a small city that rose almost straight up out of the ocean. It looked as if houses and buildings had been built one on top of another, up the side of a mountain.

After five nights he was able to put a name to the area, if not the town. It was the Amalfi Coast in Italy, south of Naples. He didn’t remember ever being there, but then there was a lot he didn’t remember about his years as Bourne. He still saw faces of the dead, why shouldn’t he let himself see that beautifully city too? But it was more than that. The place that invaded his dreams was important. He hadn’t had something that really mattered since New York. He made a decision. He was going to Italy.

………………………..

_Rome – March 2008_

The last month had been hard for Nicky. She tried to paint everyday, but she wasn’t able to concentrate and the activity that had given her so much joy, had become a chore. Everything had changed when she’d gone to her safe deposit box and discovered what Jason had left her. In her mind she tried to think of him as David Webb, but she’d loved Jason for too long. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to make the transition.

She fought claustrophobia night and day. Rome was crowded and people seemed to hem her in. It was only sheer strength of well-power that prevented other panic attacks like the one that had driven her to her roof a few weeks earlier. She wasn’t eating because her stomach rejected anything but tea and light toast. Dreams of violent Jason waited for her when she fell asleep, so it was easier to simply stay awake. 

By the middle of March she knew that she had to leave or go crazy. The question was where to go? Her mind always answered with one word: home. But she didn’t know where that was anymore. New York City had ceased to be home when two planes had hit the towers and ash, smoke, fire and paper had rained down around her. Like so many others, that moment had changed her life. She’d been set to take a job with the FBI when she completed her masters. The advent of terrorists on American soil enlarged her thinking and made her ripe for Conklin’s offer six months later.

For a while Paris had been home, but Nicky knew it wouldn’t be safe to return there, even if her emotions would have allowed her to. That was where she and Jason had been happy and she wanted to remember it that way. Tears filled her eyes and she could almost hear his voice saying, ‘We’ll always have Paris.’ Oh she was definitely going crazy, mistaking Tangier for Casablanca and Jason Bourne for Rick of Rick’s Café.

With a sigh she picked up the deed to the property in Positano. She didn’t know if she’d find home there, but it was something from him. Part of her wanted to hold on to it and keep it secret. It was like her Glock Compact, a gift from Jason for her protection but if she used it, and it was discovered, she would have to leave it behind. But as she looked in the mirror, at how thin she’d become, with dark circles under her eyes, she realized now was when she needed to make use of her resources. She would make her plans and by this time next week she would be on the Amalfi Coast in a small town that towered above the ocean. She would be safe there, hidden, and off the grid.


	4. Silence Speaks

_Silence speaks –_  
Loud and clear –  
All the words we (don’t) want to hear!  
At the touch of your hand –   
At the sound of your voice –  
At the moment your eyes meet mine – Dangerous Game – from Jekyll & Hyde

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rome – March 2008

Nicky packed her belongings from the small two-room flat in Rome and moved on. Her first inclination had been to take the train and then a bus to Positano, but after careful examination of the road along the Amalfi Coast, she opted to buy an automobile. The city could only be reached by a steep mountain highway, the water, or on foot over trails through rugged mountains. She purchased a used Fiat Barchetta. The small dark green two-seater had a high performance engine and could turn on a dime. She knew that if she had to make a quick escape from her new home, under cover of night, the little car might save her life. During the trip south she became less Nicky Parsons and more Colette Benoit with each kilometer that passed.

She stopped in Naples and had her hair stylishly cut and highlighted with shades of browns, blondes, and a touch of auburn. The all-over affect was one of careless sophistication and the color had the advantage of containing enough shades close to her natural ones that she’d hardly ever have to touch it up. She was a French widow now and needed to look the part. The choppy cut and dark coloring she’d given herself in Tangier had been fine to hide behind to get out of North Africa and hadn’t been out of place among the struggling artists of Rome, but now she was playing a different role. 

From Naples south, she drove with the top down on her car. She loved the wind in her hair as she sped along. For the first time since she opened her safe deposit box, she felt free. The claustrophobia that had driven her from Rome slipped further and further away. She hoped she’d be as lucky with the nightmares.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Positano – April 2008

Madam Benoit settled into the old stone cottage on one of the high plateaus above the city. She was quiet and introspective. If she had a slight tendency to be a hermit, no one thought it was odd. She was French and an artist. It was well known they had their little eccentricities.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

David Webb traveled the winding road along the Amalfi Coast with a bus of off-season tourists. They stopped in each city to sightsee and he went with them, playing his part as if he belonged. It was a perfect cover. But the further they traveled, the more he believed that he’d never been to that area, despite what his dreams were telling him.

His knew his amnesia played tricks with his mind. He remembered being David Webb, but the huge slice that was Jason Bourne was almost completely blank. He believed that he’d never been to Italy as Webb but, if there was any truth to the nightmares he’d had when hiding with Marie, Bourne had.

Late at night, in his darkened room, he squinted at the map and journal he and Marie had kept so diligently. She’d been sure he’d find the answers to who he was, if he just kept a careful record of memories as they returned to haunt his nights. All he’d ended up with was a book that proved he was to blame for her death and an uneasy trail to another woman. When he fought for answers during sleepless nights he often wished he’d consigned Marie’s journal to flames along with everything else good she’d brought into his life.

The area and the towns he was traveling through were beautiful, and at times his surroundings looked familiar, but it was more like he’d studied them in pictures. Unlike Berlin, Naples, Marseille, and even parts of New York City, where he’d had a gut feeling to turn this way, or to go that way at intersections, the Amalfi Coast was new to him. He was more certain with each kilometer that he’d researched the area, but never actually been there.

When the group he was traveling with arrived in Positano, he recognized the small city he’d seen in his dreams. As he stood at the side of the road between the beach and the town, reality filled in the gaps that his sleeping mind had left blank. Houses were built up the mountain, one on top of the other. Above the buildings jagged rocks were dotted with green, where vegetation clung to small patches of soil. Occasional plateaus cut into the steep mountain added patches of color. 

It didn’t make any sense. He was a man who depended on logic to keep him alive, as it had for the last two years. Now he was chasing something that was most likely born out of sleep deprivation and depression. As he watched the tour bus pull out of town, leaving him behind, he wondered if something inside of him had snapped and this was his way of giving up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

David had been in Positano four days when he saw her setting Indian-style on a blanket on the beach, with a sketchpad in her hand. Her hair, under her floppy-brimmed hat, was different. She wore a bulky sweater that was out of place with the stylish silk scarf slipped casually around her neck, but the way she moved gave her away. His insides froze and he walked with cat like grace to slip carefully among the morning shoppers. Once he put some distance between them, he slowly turned to watch her work. He didn’t need the small scope in his pocket to know he was watching Nicky Parsons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three weeks after she’d arrived in Positano, Nicky made her first trip to the waterfront to draw. She was settled on a blanket with a sketchpad and pencils, but for some reason couldn’t concentrate on her work. She was fascinated by the way the houses and buildings covered the side of the steep mountain. They created interesting patterns and shadows, crowded one on top of another, but her neck was itching and it felt as if she was being watched. She kept her head bowed over her pad and lifted her eyes to carefully study the people on the road and in front of the shops, but everything appeared normal.

Every muscle in her body screamed to get up and run, but she forced herself to sit and calmly moved her pencil over the paper. Sweat dampened her back and her heart pounded in her chest, but she didn’t give in. After an hour, she carefully closed her sketchbook and packed it in her tote along with her other supplies. Then with sure even steps she left the beach. Nothing could make her walk among the streets and markets as she’d planned. It would be too much like Tangier if someone was following her and she allowed herself to be trapped in the labyrinth of buildings that made up the town. Instead she went directly to her car. She would shop another day.

That night when she fell into a restless sleep, her nightmares returned. She spent most of the hours she should have been sleeping, pacing and checking her weapon, the locks on windows and door, and making sure the blackout curtains were tightly drawn. When dawn came she dressed warmly and walked a circuit of her house, looking for footprints, but there where none. 

For six nights, in Nicky’s sleeping mind, Jason Bourne chased her through the streets and back alleys of Paris, Rome, Berlin, Tangier and any of the other cities or small towns where they’d played escape and evade over the years. Like that first frightening game, each time he caught her, he would devastate her senses with his touch and his kisses. Then her dream would spiral out of control and she would feel cold metal against her hot skin. His Glock fired and she would hear his angry voice as she died! Every time she woke up screaming.

She didn’t need her PhD in psychology to read beneath the dream. Weapons, especially handguns, were phallic symbols. Though Nicky had always believed that as a scientist Sigmund Fraud was nothing more than a sick bastard. He had gotten some things right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

David huddled in his sleeping bag in a nitch in the rocks and continued his surveillance of the plateau some fifty feet below. The cottage, which faced the ocean, was hundreds of years old, though he could tell, even from a distance, that it had been modernized over the years. From the condition of the roof, and the windows, he was sure the last renovations had taken place sometime in the last three to four years. From his vantage point, he could see over the thick twelve-foot high wall, which ringed the dwelling and separated it from a stand of well cared for olive trees.

He’d been watching for almost a week and each day his anger and frustration grew. What was she doing here? It made no sense. When he’d put her on that bus, he’d had every intention of never seeing her again. It would be safer for both of them if it remained that way, but he knew he couldn’t leave until he had some answers to his questions.

As the moon rose and the hour grew late, he crept down the mountain. He’d watched long enough to know that no one else was watching her. It had been one of his main worries, that she was bait, either willingly or unwillingly, in a trap to capture him. Again he cursed himself for contacting Pam Landy, but it was too late, the action couldn’t be undone, so he had to live with the consequences. 

He slipped over the wall and pulled his Glock from the small of his back. He was in hunting mode and all of his senses were alerted. He reached for his small flashlight in his jacket pocket and ran the beam up and down the door, with special attention to the lock. The old cottage was equipped with a sophisticated alarm system, but whoever had put it in wasn’t as careful as they should have been, one small wire was visible. It took David, using Jason’s skills, less than five minutes to disable it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nicky tossed in bed, fighting as she began to dream. Just as she was running down a back alley with a dead-end, her body jerked and she woke quickly, more frightened of the real world than the phantom one that haunted her sleep. At first she was disoriented, thrust back into her hotel room in Berlin when Landy had knocked on her door, but this was Italy, not Germany and the night was filled with silence instead of muffled bangs and voices.

She shivered as goose bumps broke out on her arms and her hand slide automatically beneath her pillow for her Glock Compact. Something was wrong, but she didn’t know what it was. Her fingers itched to pop the clip and check her load. It was a nervous habit she’d developed since Berlin. She’d inspected her ammunition before she’d gone to bed, if she did it now, the telltale sounds might give her away. 

Noiselessly she slipped out of bed. Five careful steps later, her back was tight against the wall separating her bedroom from the living room. She didn’t let herself think, only acted, one step, then another and another and her shoulder brushed the molding along the doorframe. Whatever had woken her sent adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream. Fear threatened to choke her, so she took a deep breath, gripped her weapon with both hands and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. It loosened the tight muscles along her back and allowed her to focus on the task ahead. Crouching low and tight against the wall, she went quietly through the doorway. At the far end of the room, a dark shadowed blotted part of the fireplace. Her heart pounded in her ears and she tightened her two-handed gripped on her Glock as she took aim. This was the moment Jason had prepared her for years ago. It was the one she’d been dreading each time she practiced. 

A sharp blow hit her wrists at the nerve at the base of her thumbs. Pain followed by numbness that made her fingers useless and she lost hold of her weapon. Before she could react, her feet were swept out from under her and a body crashed into hers, taking her down hard. As the breath was knocked out of her, the only thought in her mind was that she’d lost her advantage and then she felt the cold metal of a gun barrel against her neck. It was her nightmare, but this time there would be no waking up. 

“Stop fighting me!” a familiar voice growled.

“Jason?” she gasped.

“Don’t call me that, damnit.” He pulled her to her feet with one hand fisted in the front of her green men’s Henley. His gun was still an inch away from her forehead. “Don’t call me that name. I’m David Webb now.”

“I don’t care what name you’re using! You’re alive, that’s all that matters.” Nicky reached for him, sure his memory had returned, but the touch of her hand on his face was met with a cold blank stare and the muzzle pressed tighter under her jaw. Confusion blotted out common sense and silenced the alarm bells that had been going off in her head since she’d had the creepy sensation of being watched, as she sketched on the beach. ”If you’re going to shoot me, do it! I’m sick and tired of you pushing me around and sticking your weapon in my face each time we meet!”

“What the hell are you doing here?” He slowly lowered his Glock and tucked it into the waistband at the small of his back, but kept a snug grip on the front of her shirt.

“What am I doing here?” Her heart sank as she realized it was like Madrid all over again. He wasn’t looking for her, but following an agenda of his own making. “You don’t remember do you?”

“We’ve been over that once before.” He wasn’t sure what game she was trying to play.

“It wasn’t you who arranged this? I should have realized, I should have known!” Panic shivered up her spine, but she refused to give into it. “It was a set-up, the letter, the money, the house, all of it. I think someone has been watching me for almost a week. We’re blown. We’ve got to get out of here! They must have known and baited the trap. I fell into it and now you have too.” Her words tumbled out one on top of another as she struggled to pull out of his grasp, get to her weapon, and run. “Let me go, damnit, we’re out of time.”

“You’re talking nonsense!” He shook her to get her attention. “No one is out there. I’ve been the one watching. It was me.”

“You?” Her brows rose along with her temper. She’d spent the last week in fear and doubt. She’d hardly slept or eaten and he had the nerve to calmly accuse her of talking nonsense! “It couldn’t have been you. You barge right in waving your Glock and threatening to kill me.”

“I had to be sure…” his words trailed off as he became aware of his knuckles pressed between her warm breasts where he still held on tightly to her shirt. “I had to be sure you weren’t being watched and that I could trust you.” He forced each word to sound calm as he carefully set her free. 

“After Tangier you had doubts?” She glared at him.

“You lied to me!” he accused.

“I never--” She’d never seen him like this, even when he’d threatened her under Alexanderplatz Station

“Don’t play innocent. You had to have known a hell of a lot more about me than you let on.” He clenched his hands at his sides to quell the urge to shake her, again. “I don’t remember much about being Jason Bourne, but bits and pieces are coming back. I know we were fuck buddy, at one time.” He squinted as her mouth dropped open in shock. “Or was that just part of your job, too?” The idea that she’d used sex to manipulate him made him sick to his stomach. “Being a handier for the CIA must cover a lot of territory.” He’d hardly gotten the words out when she slapped him hard across the cheek.

“Go to hell!” Nicky rasped. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” His expression was hard. He ignored the sharp sting of his cheek as he stepped closer and grabbed her upper arm intent on answers. She’d had access to his file and his apartment in Paris, what else did she know about him? 

“Let go of me!” She twisted free. Angry and in pain, she was no longer the quietly controlled agent who had helped him in Spain and Africa. “When exactly was I supposed to tell you about us? That night you arrived at the Safe House confused and broken, ready to kill anyone in sight? You didn’t know me and didn’t want to. Or Berlin, how about Berlin, when all you wanted was to shove a gun in my face and terrorize me? You weren’t about to listen to a thing I had to say and I was wearing a wire so I couldn’t...couldn’t...even try.” Each time she believed she’d reached the limit of her endurance with him, he pushed her that much further. “Or Madrid and Tangier?” tears were blocking her throat making it hard to speak. “You didn’t want to know. You made that clear. You shut me out. All you were interested in was the hunt and your goddamn revenge! How dare you come back into my life, wave a gun in my face, call me a whore and then demand answers!” Her temper shot through the roof and she attacked him with clenched fists. Two years of pent-up anger and loss spewed forth. 

Something inside of him shifted as he caught sight of tears that made her cheeks glisten in the dark. She was right and it only added to the guilt and pain he was carrying. He pulled her into his arms as much to stop her flaying hands as to give comfort. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“Let me go,” her voice hitched as she felt the familiar warmth of his body pressed against hers. “Please, let me go.” 

“Hush, Nicolette, I’ve got you,” the words came from the past and seemed perfectly natural as he spoke them. He ran his left hand through her hair and buried her damp face against his neck. He recognized the feel of her skin and the seductive weight of her breasts against his chest. He knew what she sounded like when passion ripped through her and that she had a small mole below her left breast. The sudden flash of new memories made him flinch. 

Nicky stiffened and pulled away as she felt Jason wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She turned away from him and lit the lamp on the small table. Her eyes automatically darted to each window to be sure the blackout drapes were pulled tight. She knelt to pick-up her weapon, making sure there were no signs of tears, before she turned and sat curled in the corner of the sofa.

“I don’t know where the anger came from.” He felt distracted, his mind out of sync with his body. To hide it, he sat on the edge of the couch with as much space between them as he could. He’d held her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As much as he’d tried with Marie, it had never been like that. Each action had taken thought and now he knew why. He’d been searching for things that weren’t there, familiar pale skin under his hands and a mole under the swell of her left breast. He’d been searching for the woman who sat shivering two feet away from him. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she sighed not wanting to think about the two years that separated them and all that she’d lost in that time. 

“It does!” He turned toward her, needing answers that left no doubts. “What were you to me that I’d try to find you and not even realize I was doing it?” She had been the reason he’d come here, he was sure of it, but he needed to hear her say it.

Her dark eyes looked into his and she knew that this time she wouldn’t dodge the question. “We had an affair.” She chose her words carefully to keep what little pride she had intact. 

“I assumed as much, but…”

“It was a mistake, unprofessional and unwise, but we did it anyway.” She held up her hand to keep him silent. “That’s all I’m going to say about it tonight.” Her breath hitched and it took everything she had to keep from falling apart.

Jason looked her over carefully. The perceptive man finally saw dark circles under her eyes and how much thinner she was than she’d been in Tangier. “You look exhausted.” 

“I am. It’s been a long few days. Truth be told, it’s been a long few years.” She reached over and wrapped her fingers around his. “It doesn’t look as if it’s been any easier on you.”

“I could do with a good night’s sleep.” His gaze followed her hand up her arm until he met the dark depths of her eyes and she stared back, lost, unable to move. He knew he should pull away. He was a man who’d learned to be wary of touch, but he enjoyed the warmth of her small hand curled over his. He knew he should break eye contact. It was what he’d done with her in that café halfway between Madrid and Gibraltar, but something in her eyes wouldn’t let him look away.

“Ahh…We…well…we’re safe here, hidden, off the grid,” she whispered. “You could get that sleep here.” She quickly let go of his hand and scuttled back into her corner of the couch, putting some distance between them.

“I could,” he agreed. “I still need to know what you know.” He saw her shudder at his words but he had to get his life back. “I need to put all the pieces of the puzzle back together.” 

“I realize that, but we’re both too tired to think straight.” She stood and looked around the room unsure of what to do next. “Sleep on the couch tonight. We can make up one of the spare rooms tomorrow. I’ll do what I can to help you remember.”

“The couch would be great.” He reached for her hand and turned her toward him. “Nicky--”

“Please, not tonight.” She tucked her Glock Compact into the back of her drawstring pajama bottoms.

“I was only going to ask if you carried that thing with you wherever you went.” He nodded, with a slight smile, toward her weapon.

“Pretty much.” She shrugged. “You taught me well.”

“Me?” he questioned. It seemed out of character. 

“Mmmhumm.” She nodded. “That and a few other tricks of survival. I think I’d be dead if you hadn’t.” Nicky looked into the past and knew she was speaking the truth. 

Jason’s eyes clouded over and he pictured Marie as he’d last seen her, looking beautiful, fragile and very dead. The slow current had been carrying her body away from him. Why hadn’t he taught her to survive? Why hadn’t he made her learn to shoot and see danger behind every corner? The simple answer was that she’d refused all his efforts, but the more complicated one was what made the difference: Marie Kreutz had never really believed in the evils of the world, but somewhere along the line, Nicky Parsons had learned that lesson. It was why she was alive today and Marie wasn’t.

“Jas-David,” Nicky corrected quickly. “Are you all right?” 

“Yeah, sure, like you said, I’m done-in. I’ll check the perimeter.” His voice was cold and distant. She knew that whatever he’d been thinking about hadn’t been pleasant.

“Thanks, that’d be great.” She watched him walk stiffly away before she went to get him some bedding. 

After he’d walked a quick circuit of the cottage, checked all the locks and reset the alarm system, he helped her make-up the coach. It felt familiar, almost second nature, to do all the little necessities of closing down a house before going to bed with Nicky close at hand. 

“Oh, one other thing,” she knew she sounded embarrassed, but figured embarrassed was better than dead. “I…ah…well…I sometimes have nightmares and insomnia…ahhh so please look before you shoot if you…well hear any strange noises.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got the same problems, so same goes for you and that Compact you carry with you. If I taught you to use it, I assume you hit what you aim at.”

“Yeah, I do.” Nicky made it as far as her bedroom door when she turned back and looked into the living room. “You’ll be here when I wake-up in the morning?” 

“I will.”

“Thank you,” she whispered as she was swept with relief. Up until that very moment she hadn’t realized how frightened she’d been or how safe he made her feel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning Nicky woke to the smell of brewed coffee and the sound of someone working on her front door.

“What are you doing?” She asked as she padded into the hallway wearing heavy socks, jeans and a long sleeved sweater. The days were getting warmer, but nights and mornings were still chilly.

“Fixing your security system.” Jason sat cross-legged on the floor holding the plate that covered the lock in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. A mug of coffee was by his right knee. “It’s a good system, though a little outdated. Whoever put it in was careless. They left a wire showing. It was what alerted me to its presence and I was able to circumvent it last night.”

“I’d wondered about that.” She watched him work. It felt natural and right to have him there. “Have you eaten?”

“No, I wanted to get this taken care of first. I really should have done it last night.” He tightened the last screw into place and sat leaning against the door. “Would you mind if I used your shower? There’s only a tub in the other bathroom.” Jason caught the morning scents of a freshly bathed woman and he had a sudden flash of her naked body pressed against his as water streamed around them. He could feel her skin slick under his hands and mouth; hear soft high pitched moans as he braced her against a porcelain wall and drove her over the edge. With a shake of his head, he reached for his mug and drank coffee that had grown cold as he worked. It helped to wipe away the image and bring him back to the present.

“Are you all right?” She knelt beside him and laid her hand on his knee as she examined him carefully.

“Yeah…” his voice was husky with passion as he felt his body respond to the memory and her touch. “Yes, I just had a quick flash of…something…but it’s gone now.”

“What did you see?” She sat on the cold marble floor inches away from him. “Maybe it’s something I can help you with.”

“No…I…” He froze as he was filled with doubts. Was she playing games with him? Had the last few hours been some plot to manipulate him? He raised his head and looked her in the eyes. “It was the fragrance of your soap and shampoo that brought back the memory,” he kept his words cold and controlled as he studied her response. “We were in the shower. Your skin glistened with water. I could hear your soft mewing as I pressed you against the wall and….”

“Stop, please stop,” she cried out. Her breath hitched and she buried her face in her hands. “You were right. There is nothing I can do to help.” Did this cold hard person who was keeping the man she’d once loved prisoner; expect her to follow him into the bathroom for a reenactment? She tried to rise, but plopped back onto the floor when he grabbed her arm.

“Last night I asked you what you were to me.” He held on to her tightly. “I’m asking it again.”

“We were lovers,” she whispered as her insides broke apart. “I told you that.”

“Yes, you did, but what else?” he probed.

“You gave me extra weapon’s training and—“

“Stop evading my questions, damnit!” He cut her off. “That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.”

“But it was all part of it.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he wouldn’t let go. “You taught me so much, all the little things that have kept me alive. Things like the need for staying off the technological grid. That something as simple as an email address or cell phone could get me killed.” She was hyperventilating and her words ran together as she tried to make him understand. “My God, Jas—ah…ah…David, it’s because of you that Desh didn’t catch up to me sooner in that ally in Tangier. You and I practiced escape and evade in countless cities and villages in Europe. I knew what to do to get away from him because you made certain that I learned!” 

“How long did it – did we last?” he demanded. When she didn’t answer him immediately, he shook her by the arm. “How long, Nicky?” 

“Eighteen months,” her throat was blocked with tears, she refused to give in to, and it made speaking difficult. “Then you went on that last mission and it all went to hell.”

“Did I love you?” He needed to know. He’d already figured out his body had unknowingly yearned for hers, but had it been more than that? Was she the reason he hadn’t been able to…to really love Marie? He’d always blamed it on their situation. The need to always watch their backs, always be ready to run. He’d told himself countless times that as long as he kept Marie at arm’s length he could stay focused and keep them alive. But it hadn’t been enough and she had paid the price!

“We never talked about that.” 

“Nicky, did I love you.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her closer to him. Their knees were locked together and her body was pressed against his. His actions weren’t making sense. He was by nature a tactile man, but he’d learned early that touch wasn’t safe. He’d become a man of economy of movements, but he used every excuse he had, to put his hands on her, to feel her body next to his.

“I don’t know,” her voice cracked. “Please, Jason, I don’t know!”

“I told you not to call me that! I’m not that man anymore.” 

“You certainly aren’t the Jason Bourne I knew!” she hissed and braced her hands against his shoulders. “You’ve become the creation Alexander Conklin always dreamed of: cold, hard, unforgiving and totally focused. There isn’t a human emotion left in you! If that is David Webb, you can damn well keep him. But be warned, there is no way in hell you can stay off the grid when you’re like that, not if you’re going to interact with people.”

He watched her as she fought for control and won. Her eyes were dark and wet and filled with sorrow, but she didn’t cry. It was as if she were mourning a deep loss… “You loved him, didn’t you?” he accused.

“I loved you, back then,” Nicky declared with fire in her eyes. She remembered their last time together and it hurt. This time she refused to repeat her mistake and deny what she had felt. “My only regret is that I never told you. I had the chance the morning you left on your last mission. I’m not sure it would have made any difference to you, but it would have to me.”

“I can’t…” He wished he remembered more than snatches of his life with her. 

“I know.” She smiled sadly. “Marie is who you remember. You loved her. I don’t expect anything from you.”

“It’s more complicated than that!” He handed her back the tools he’d been using and shifted to stand. His grief and guilt were too great to talk about. “Look, I’ll leave you in peace. I never should have come here.”

“Wait, no. Please stay. What was between us is in the past. I won’t bother you with it.” She hoped she could keep her feelings hidden. He didn’t need to know how much she still loved him. “We’re both raw from the last two years. You’ve been hiding; unsure of whom you could trust. I’ve been looking over my shoulder; sure they were going to finally realize how much I knew and that I was a liability.” She looked around the high-ceilinged entranceway and indicated the cottage. “It’s safe here. We’re hidden. Between the two of us, maybe, we can piece your memory together.”

“You really want me to stay?” He was tempted. She was right. They were safe. He didn’t know how he knew it but he did. He was bone weary. She was right about that, too.

“Yes, I do.” She nodded. “Maybe if we find the answers that you’re looking for we’ll both have some closure.”

“All right, then I guess…”

“There’s one condition.” She stepped closer to him needing some reassurance. “If you have to leave, for whatever reason, tell me, don’t just disappear. I don’t think I could go through that again. I won’t question your decision or ask where you’re going. I need you to promise….” For one small second she was standing in his kitchen in Paris. It was that last morning before he went away and everything changed.

“We’ve done this before,’ he whispered. He couldn’t take his eyes off hers, as his hands moved gently up her arms.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Do you remember?”

“No, it just feels familiar.”

“Okay, then.” Nicky stepped back, giving herself space to breathe. “Don’t force it. If your memory is going to come back it will.”

“Tell me what I’m missing. Damnit, fill in the blanks.”

“No, I can’t.” She shook her head sadly. “If I did that, it would be giving you my memories and interpretations of the past. You need yours.” 

“Just tell me everything that you know and we can go on from there.” He was impatient. Too much of his life was a gaping hole. “You had access to my file. You have to tell me.”

“You’ve got enough of a muddle going on inside your head. I don’t want to add more confusion into the mix.” Nicky reached for his hand uncertain if he’d allow her to touch him or not. “As you remember things, we’ll talk and I’ll verify them if I can. But I didn’t know about David Webb. There was no mention of your prior life, with the exception of a short medical history.”

“Is Webb a lie too?” He didn’t believe that Pam Landy would have given him the information if it weren’t true. She had nothing to gain, at the time, and a great deal to lose.

“I don’t know. According to Daniels, part of the aim of your training was to reprogram a Treadstone agent’s personality. Amnesia would help to maintain the new personality. None of you had memories of your pasts.” She shook her head and frowned. “I think that Alexander Conklin used it to his advantage. The files I had access to, on all of you, only gave me the basics, nothing more. He believed that secrets were the key to control and control was power.”

“You argued with him about that once…about his need for total control?” Jason had a vague memory of a man shouting while Nicky remained calm but firm.

“I never told you about that. How did you know?” It had been during her first week in Paris while she was still in the process of taking over from Conklin.

“It was the first time I’d met you. You were new to the program. I arrived early…I think?” he spoke haltingly willing the images that had been clear moments earlier to return. “Conklin was trying to bully you about something, but you wouldn’t give in.” The harder he tried to remember the faster the voices vanished. “It’s gone, damnit!” He shook his head in frustration.

“It’s all right. Give it time, give yourself time.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “This is why you need your own memories and not mine. I had no idea you’d overheard that conversation.”

“I guess you’re right,” he admitted grudgingly. “I do need to find my own way.”

“You can do this. I’ll help where I can.” She smiled, as she stepped back. “It’ll be easier together. Just don’t force it, but when you do remember, try and be aware of what triggers it.”

“You sound like a shrink when you talk like that.” He glared unsure if he wanted anymore ‘professional’ help than he’d already received from Treadstone.

“I have a masters and PhD in psychology, so I guess I am.”

“Did I know that before?” Every time he thought he could trust her, he learned something that made him doubt.

“Yes, you all knew. I never lied to any of you…Well,” she grinned and suppressed a nervous giggle. “You and I did lie to Conklin and everyone else about…about us. But that had nothing to do with my job. Treadstone had five agents who were showing significant signs of psychosomatic problems. I was brought in to monitor and help. I’m still willing to do that job for you, but you have to believe in me or it won’t work. You have to decide now what you’re going to do.”

He watched her carefully, assessing and reassessing everything he knew about her. “All right, I promise that when I need to leave, I’ll tell you, I won’t simply disappear.”

“Okay, good.” She smiled, happy for the first time in months. “Then I’ll…ah…make some breakfast while you wash up.” She couldn’t believe it, he’d agreed to her one condition. It was his way of telling her he trusted her. “Oh, and about that flash of memory you had.” She felt her cheeks turning pink, but she owed him a show of trust in return. “What did the shower look like? Was it the one in your apartment?”

“It wasn’t Paris.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on the memory of his surroundings rather than the feel of the woman in his arms. “The bathroom was too small and ornate.”

“Double shower stall or claw foot tub?” she whispered.

“Double stall.” His lips twitched and he had to fight to keep from smiling.

“It was a B&B in the Pyrenees, Spanish side, I think.”

“You think?” He grinned and couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “I gather we had an affinity for sex in the shower?”

“That is something you’re going to have to remember all on your own!” Her chin rose and she turned and headed toward the kitchen. She was damned if she was going to tell him that they’d had an affinity for making love anywhere they could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That afternoon they opened up one of the spare bedrooms and set up its bathroom. He moved his few belongings from his campsite above the plateau. Neither wanted a repeat of the night he’d arrived, when weapons had been drawn and tempers had flared so, in an unspoken agreement, both slept with their doors open.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later Jason woke from a disorienting dream, his first since arriving in Positano. There had been flashes of light, Conklin shouting, weapon’s fire and blood splattered everywhere. He gasped for breath as he rolled from bed, his heart pounding.

After checking all the locks and the security system, he sat in the dark, on the sofa in the living room with his head thrown back as he listened for anything that was out of place. His Glock held like an extension of his hand.

“Jason?” Nicky whispered as she walked slowly into the living room, lowering her Compact as she realized what had awakened her. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I had a nightmare. Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He felt the couch shift as she sat beside him.

“It’s okay. How come you didn’t point that thing at me?” She smiled and nodded toward his right hand, which still held his weapon. “I’m quiet, but I know you must have heard me.”

“I recognized the sound of your tread.”

“Oh,” she sighed. “I’ll have to learn that trick.” She pulled her legs up under her and turned toward him so she could rest her head on her hand on the back of the sofa.

“You staying up?” He looked at her, inches away from him and dreaded what was coming.

“If you don’t mind?” her voice was still slurred from sleep.

“No, I’d like the company.” He frowned, surprised by his answer. He didn’t want to hunt for the significance of the memories that had been dredged up in his sleep and then dissect them as if it were a therapy session.

“What’s the matter?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my dream?” He was used to Marie’s insistent questions when he woke in the middle of the night.

“Not unless you want me to.” She saw doubt flicker across his face and he seemed to pull away from her eventhough he hadn’t moved a muscle. “Jason,” she murmured as she placed her hand on the sharp plane of his cheek and ran her thumb under his lower lip. “I didn’t mean to hurt you by not asking. I’m interested, and will listen to anything you want to tell me, but I’m never going to push you.”

“It’s not anything you did.” His fingers moved over her arm until his hand covered hers, resting on his cheek. The relief that he felt because she wasn’t going to prod and poke when all he wanted was peace and quiet to let his thoughts settle, seemed like an insult to Marie and all she’d helped him accomplish.

“I…ah…” Nicky stuttered when she saw his eyes fill with naked pain. She’d touched a nerve and she was sure it had to do with Marie. “You’re used to doing things differently, aren’t you?” she asked as gently as possible, ignoring the hurt that welled up inside of her. She was caught in a love triangle with a dead woman. It sounded like something out of a bad romance novel, but unlike those books her grandmother had been so fond of, there wasn’t going to be a happy ending for this heroine.

“I can’t talk about it.”

“I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.” As her hand began to tremble under his, she tried to pull away before he felt her distress. She’d forgotten how quick and perceptive he was.

“Nicky, someday we’re gonna have that conversation, but not now, not tonight.” He took her hand in both of his and wouldn’t let go. “You’re shaking.”

“I know,” her voice broke and she took a deep breath.

“Do you still want to stay up with me?” He needed her quiet presence, but wouldn’t ask. 

“Yes, unless you want to be alone.” She’d had her share of night terrors in the last two years and there were times when she’d have given almost anything to have him sitting beside her, to help her panic recede and reality returned.

“I’ve been alone for too long.” He reached for the throw on the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her into his arms. 

“Me too,” she sighed and snuggled against him. It was wrong and dangerous, but felt so good. “There is one thing.” She looked up at him. “It would be a good idea to keep a pad and pencil beside your bed, so that when you wake, like this, you can scribble some notes before you forget what you’ve dreamt.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smiled into her hair and took a deep breath of almond. It steadied him and made him sure of where he was. “Sleep now, I’ve got you Nicolette.” 

When he called her that, she wanted to ask him to never let her go. Instead she silently reminded herself of what she’d known all along: he was a self-sufficient man who didn’t need anyone. One day he would walk out of her life and when that happened, she didn’t think he’d ever return. She was damned if she’d waste what precious time she had with him wishing things could be different. So she left her head on his shoulder and let his scent surround her as she spoke the only truth she could, “You make me feel safe.” 

“You do the same for me.” He rested his cheek against her hair and fell asleep to the sound of her even breathing.

That night set a pattern. Whenever he couldn’t sleep, or was haunted by nightmares, she would meet him in the neutral territory of the living room. It was always quiet and they fell asleep clinging to one another, within a few minutes of her arrival. It wasn’t sexual, though with the smallest move on either’s part, it could have turned that way.

Their days had no real pattern except they always started by running one of the mountain trails behind the olive grove and ended by working out in the weight room someone had installed behind the wine cellar. The rest of their waking hours were spent living quietly, doing laundry, shopping, fixing meals and reading. Every so often Jason would try to dig into the wealth of knowledge he was sure Nicky possessed about his past, but she blocked his every attempt.

“Ja—David,” she rolled her eyes at her error thankful he ignored it. 

“Nick, it’s all right,” he interrupted her. “Call me Jason. It feels right when you do.”

“Thanks.” She was caught off guard at the small kindness he offered, but went on with what she needed to say. “ I told you before you need to give yourself time. Stop pushing for my memories, they won’t help you.” She poured whipped eggs into a hot omelet pan and put her bowl and whisk aside on the counter. “Besides you need sleep, the kind that allows you to really rest. You’ve had nightmares three of the last five nights. You’re brain requires more REM sleep than it’s getting. Unfortunately, dreams occur during REM and the ones you’re having are so bad that they’re waking up. How long has it been since you’ve had three straight nights of uninterrupted sleep?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed in frustration as he scooped freshly ground coffee into the filter. “I can’t remember if I’ve ever been able to sleep like that.”

“Take it from me, you have.”

“Ahhh and I supposed that was because you were right there beside me,” he responded cynically with a touch of anger. It bothered him that when he’d wake-up on the couch with her in his arms, he felt intense tender desire that was frightening, because it made him vulnerable. It, also, felt natural for reasons he could only guess. That first morning and each morning it happened, he’d told himself it was because he’d been so long without a woman, but he knew it was lie. As close as he and Marie had been, he’d never reached for her in the night, like that. It had never calmed his sleep to hold her in his arms! 

“No, Jason, that isn’t how I know.” Nicky met his cold glare with calm professionalism. “I was your handier as well as your…ah…lover. If there was something wrong with you I would have known about it.” But as she said the words, she shivered. She’d run headlong into doubts and guilt that had been eating at her for two years. “But I…didn’t…”

“Nick, what’s wrong.” He heard the change in her voice and it put him on alert.

“Nothing…I…ah…I didn’t know.” She was shaking and looked stricken. “Oh God, Jason, I missed it!” She closed her eyes and fought for a shred of professional armor, but it was a losing battle.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Fear bit at him, as the color completely blanched from her face.

“I should have seen it.” She blinked looking off into the distance, unaware that she’d brushed within an inch of a hot pan.

“Easy does it, Babe.” He was beside her in three quick steps and pulled her tightly against his side. He took a moment to move the skillet off the stove and turn off the flames before he guided her to a chair. “What happened? What did you miss?” When all she did was shake her head, he knelt in front of her and cupped her cheeks to make her look him in the eyes. “Do we need to run, have we been compromised?”

“No, we’re safe,” she gasped.

“You’re sure?” He felt the comforting weight of his weapon in his pancake holster attached to his belt. 

“As sure as I can be,” her voice cracked and sounded strange, but he believed her.

“Then what...please Nicky, talk to me.”

“I can’t,” she whispered as she wrapped her hands around his wrists. “It’s too soon, you need…”

“Stop, just stop it! You need to tell me what’s eating you and I need to hear it.”

She bit her lip hard and concentrated on the pain to keep from crying. He was going to hate her when he knew the truth, but she had to tell him. “During those last weeks in Paris, you must have been coming apart. You needed me to be a professional, to act as your handier, your therapist, but I was too busy loving you to do my job.” There she’d said it, now he knew how badly she’d failed him. 

“No, no, it wasn’t like that!” 

“Yes it was! I just didn’t want to see it.” She shook her head wanting to deny the past, but was unable to.

“Was I acting differently, Nicky?” he insisted. “What do you know?”

“I told you before, we aren’t going to talk about this. You need to remember on your own. 

“This isn’t about my memories but yours.”

“It’s not that easy, they’re all mix up together. Please, Jason, I don’t want to fail you again,” she whispered.

“You won’t fail me and I don’t believe you did two years ago.” He didn’t know where the certainty came from, but he felt it to the bottom of his soul. “Tell me what you know, what you observed, that’s all I’m asking.”

“All right,” she whispered as she stood and wiped at her damp eyes. “Okay, but this may take us a while. We need some food while I do this. I’ll finish making coffee and you cut up the rest of the fruit. It would be best if I don’t handle a knife right now.” She held out her hands that were still shaking.

Ten minutes later they were sitting in the living room. Nicky was curled in a large armchair warming her hands on a cup of coffee and Jason was sitting stiffly on the sofa. His coffee sat beside a plate of neatly cut apples, grapes, and oranges on the end table that separated them.

“The first thing that was different about your last mission was that it didn’t come through me.” She jumped right in; afraid she’d lose her nerve if she put it off any longer. “Up until that time, all the missions came through the Safe House. They were coded and the assignments already made. It was my job to verify the agent was up to the job and pass them on.”

“Had any of the others had assignments that weren’t passed through the Hub?” He felt a dull ache behind his eyes and realized it was the beginning of the first headache he’d had since New York.

“I can’t be sure, but thinking back on it, I believe that Castel in Rome and the Professor in Barcelona may each have been given jobs from another source. The first year I was working for Treadstone, Castel was out of touch for over three weeks. When I became aware of it, I followed protocol and contacted Conklin. He told me it was covered and not to ask questions. The same thing happened with the Professor a few months later. I was still very new and didn’t know what to think. Then nothing out of the ordinary happened for almost two years.”

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“I knew you were preparing for a mission some distance away, probably even out of France. You were gone over night, four times in eight weeks.” She took a gulp of coffee as the memories came back. “The only reason I knew that you were out of town was because we were…well…together.”

“Did I tell you anything about what I was doing?” He wanted desperately to remember what led up to his failed assignment, but he only had flashes from two years ago. The most intense were from when he’d faced down Alexander Conklin.

“No,” she shook her head. “It always bothered you that I knew more than I would have, if I were simply Treadstone’s handier and logistics contact. You worried that if they ever found out how much I knowledge I had, they’d come after me.”

“I was right to worry. You do know too much, but, right now, I’m hoping you know more, because I need to hear about it.”

“That last morning you were different.” She was looking into the past and could see it as if it were happening all over again. “Usually before a mission you’d wake totally focused on what was ahead. You’d recite a list of all the things you’d been teaching me about staying safe, things like, if you’re on the run, never fly because, airports are too well watched and they’d have no compunction about taking down an entire plane of people to get the one person they really want.” She shuddered at the thought. Crashing jets meant New York City and the radical change they had caused in her life. They had nothing to do with Paris. “You’d remind me to always police my brass, to shoot and then toss away my unmarked weapon. The list usually went on and on, all through breakfast.”

“But not that morning?” He leaned forward in his chair, almost touching her, as she remembered the past. He wanted desperately to see clearly what she was seeing, but he couldn’t, all he could do was listen and hope it triggered a memory of his own. 

“No, not that morning, instead you made me tell you what I’d learned. You needed to know that I really did understand the importance of all the things you’d been teaching me. Then you made a joke about my eidetic memory and…” Her eyes flutter shut as she remembered his hands on her body. 

“And what, Nicky?” he demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“We made love,” she sighed and held up her hand to forestall his questions. “It was something you never did on the morning you’d leave on a mission. You would wake up…different, more focused, colder, your mind already on where you were going and what you had to do, but not that morning. You…we…” She took a moment to collect her emotions before she went on. “Part of me was convinced you were saying good-bye. I even made you promise that if you had to go away for any reason, you wouldn’t simply disappear and let me think you were dead.” She tried to smile as she shook off the memories and deep feelings. “You kept your promise, twice; first by storming the Safe House before you disappeared. Then last January, I sat in Palma, Majorca watching a newscast, which announced that you’d fallen ten stories into the East River, but your body hadn’t been found. I knew you were alive and somehow had found a way to keep your promise.”

“It was Landy who helped me get that message out, but I didn’t know why I needed to do it.” He shook his head wanting to deny it, but it made perfect sense. “I’m sorry but I don’t remember anything from that morning in Paris.”

“I know that now, but when you first arrived, I thought you’d remembered everything.” She picked up her coffee and drank slowly. It tasted cold and bitter the way her life had been for a very long time. “I still don’t understand how you knew to come here.”

“I dreamt about it.” He shrugged and looked sheepish. He knew it made no sense and went against all of his training. “I hoped I’d find a key to my past here, and I did. I found you.”

“You found more than that. You found your escape plan. This cottage and land belongs to you.” She got up and brought back the documents she’d found in her safe deposit box in Rome. “I didn’t know about it until a few weeks ago…” She shrugged her shoulders, unsure of what else to say. 

He looked quickly at a birth certificate for Colette Jeanne Marquette; a marriage license for Colette and Jean-Paul Benoit; a copy of the deed to the property in Positano; Jean-Paul’s death certificate and various other papers that outlined an online cash transaction between Monsieur Benoit and Senore Cantinni, selling a small slice of the much lager estate east of their plateau. The date of the purchase was just over four years ago. He quickly did the math, eighteen months with Nicky in Paris, two years on the run, another five months since Marie was killed last November. He must have found and bought the property a few months after he began his affair with Nicky Parsons.

“I had a lock box in Rome. It contained the identities I’d built for myself over the years. When I opened it in March, I found those papers. You’d created a life for me, and a safe place to hide. You had even given me cash to make it all happen. There was a note. I recognized your handwriting. It was dated exactly a week before you left on the Wombosi mission. You must have written it while in Italy, doing prep work for that assignment,” her voice broke. “This is why I don’t want to talk about the past unless you have specific questions! All it does is bring up more questions, none of which I can answer. I don’t know why you did any of this and neither do you!”

“I obviously wanted you to have somewhere you’d be safe,” he muttered not wanting to think about how different his life with Marie might have been if he’d had a pre-arranged place to hide and identities that were solidly set-up long before he needed them. “Where’s the note?”

“I burned it.” It was simple to say, but it had been very difficult for her to do. She’d cried as the paper charred and went up in smoke. 

“Good, if you knew my writing, then so would others. It was smart to get rid of a link like that.” He could see she was in pain, but had his own to deal with. She was right, looking back at unanswerable questions only added to his confusion. “What did the note say?”

“No, I said no more and meant it,” she insisted. “You don’t remember writing it. You don’t remember anything about that time. I’m not answering anymore questions that only lead you to more doubts!”

“Nicky, I’m not going to take the cottage from you. It’s yours, I wanted you to have it, or I wouldn’t have bought it in the names of Jean-Paul and Colette Benoit and then given you Jean-Paul’s death certificate.” It was hard to sound reasonable when his insides were churning with misgivings. Had he meant for them to go into hiding together? Had the death certificate only been a precaution? Had he loved her that much? Was everything that happened with Marie a mistake? The headache that had begun as a dull pain behind his eyes pounded in direct proportion to his uncertainties. “I need some fresh air,” he growled.

“I wasn’t talking about this house or the land,” she sighed, but was speaking to his back as he headed out the door. “We’ll figure all of that out when the time--” The door slammed and she was left alone, talking to thin air, “--comes for one of us to leave.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night it was Nicky who woke drenched in sweat and screaming. Her nightmares had returned and they were worse than ever. Jason led her blindly into the living room, and for the first time in years, she left her Glock under her pillow. He pulled her down beside him on the couch and held her tightly as visions of explosions and smoke cleared from her mind.

“I’m all right, really I am,” she argued and tried to get up and return to bed.

“No you’re not, anymore than I’ve been on any of the nights you’ve stayed and kept me company.” With a deft movement he flipped her around until she was laying full length, pressed tightly between the back of the sofa and his warm body.

“This is supposed to be about you, not me.” She strained against him to get up, but he only held her closer.

“No, it’s not. It’s about both of us.” He grazed her forehead with his nose and her scent filled his nostrils. His body responded to the woman in his arms.

“Jason, this isn’t a good idea,” her words were hoarse with desire. She felt him pressing against her abdomen and remembered exactly what it was like to have him buried deep inside of her. Her breasts responded and her nipples hardened against his bare chest. She took one quick moment to be thankful he’d either taken the time to pull on pajama bottoms or that he slept in more than he used to. 

“I’ve got you Nicolette, hush now, I’ve got you,” he whispered and stroked her back with a hand that shook slightly. He wrapped his leg around both of hers and pulled her closer to him. They both groaned and shook on contact. “Just let me hold you.” 

Her body trembled against his, but she looked up into the intense blue of his eyes with trust. She knew that she was safe, safe from dangers from the outside and safe from him as well. She nodded almost imperceptivity, but he felt her movement and sighed.

“Sleep now, everything will look better in the morning.” Once more he stroked her skin under the men’s Henley she wore as a pajama top and then carefully he pulled it back into place. His lips twitched slightly when he realized that the old green shirt had belonged to him once long ago. With that knowledge, came a flash of memory. He saw Nicky with long blonde hair as she came apart into a million pieces under his hands. If she hadn’t been lying so trustingly in his arms, the mental picture would have been too much for him. As it was, it was a close call. 

Jason lay awake for a long time as Nicky’s breathing slowed and she fell asleep. They’d walked very close to the edge tonight and he knew it was dangerous. In a flash of insight he realized it was the mistake he’d made with Marie. He’d jumped headlong into her bed without any memory of his past. He’d desired her, but he knew it was a washed out shadow of what he felt for the woman who slept in his arms. Had he been unable to love Marie because he already loved Nicolette Parsons? Had his mind forgotten her, but his emotions remembered?

‘What nonsense,’ he shook his head. He wasn’t a man who thought like that, at least not the man he’d been during the last two years, his mind scoffed. His memories of David Webb weren’t much help. They were cloudy at best and all of them of a younger, more idealistic person, who had no real bearing on who he was now. But he kept going back to two facts. First he’d taken the time and spent the money to be sure Nicky was safe if he wasn’t around. More importantly he had a warm scantily clad woman pressed against him. He desired her to the point of physical pain, and he knew it would have taken only the slightest nudge on his part and they would have spent the night relieving that desire over and over again. Maybe it wasn’t such nonsense after all?


	5. A Darker Dream

_A darker dream –_  
That has no ending –  
That's so unreal  
You believe that it's true!  
A dance of death -  
Out of a mystery tale –  
Dangerous Game – From Jekyll And Hyde

Positano – April 2008 

Jason Bourne was sleeping soundly when he began to dream. The images that filled his unconscious mind weren’t about violence and death, but the sweet softness of a woman. This time he knew who she was and had no wish to fight where his mind was taking him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His arms were wrapped around Nicky Parsons as she slept. Her naked body was pressed against his. Her hair tickled the stubble on his chin and filled his nostrils with the slight scent of almonds. He savored the pleasure of her comforting presence at the same time he marveled at it. He was an extremely physical man, but was always careful to keep that side of him hidden.

To touch meant connecting with another…

To touch meant leaving a part of him behind…DNA…fingerprints…a piece of himself that could never be returned…

Europe, Asia, or wherever he went, was filled with women who met his needs, ones that were only interested in the hunger of passion. Those women usually detected the danger that radiated beneath his quiet presence and found it intriguing, a lure to their desires, though none had ever guessed at its real nature. 

None of them had ever been to his apartment and he never fell asleep with any of them. He didn’t have the luxury of that vulnerability…

None of them ever got closer than a quick fuck, before he was gone in the night, leaving nothing behind… 

His life had changed for a while, when for the first time in his memory, he’d made an unwise choice and begun an affair with Nicky. Now he knew if he had to go back to being the cold, hard man he’d been before, it would devastate his mind….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even half-awake, he struggled to keep the dream with him. He kept his eyes closed and enjoyed the feel of her soft weight draped snugly against him. The idea that something wasn’t right skirted his thoughts, but he ignored the niggling doubt and cupped her bottom, stifling a groan when the pressure of his hands brought her soft femininity more intimately into contact with him. Her presence felt tangible, as if she was really with him and he didn’t plan on letting go, not this time, not ever again.

She always slept in his arms, but this was a first. He grinned contentedly when he imagined what they must have been doing to have fallen asleep in this position, too exhausted to move, despite their cramped space. 

He was reassured to know that no matter how brutal his life was this woman was there for him. She understood the source of his darkness, but was not afraid.

He knew Nicky’s body well. It would only take the slightest shift of his hips and he would be inside her...again…

...but something wasn’t right. Jason tried to shake away doubts but he couldn’t fight instinct that was fast making him aware of his surroundings.

Risk assessment took less than a second, even without opening his eyes. Nick was wearing clothes and so was he. They weren’t in his queen size bed in Paris. There was something about the lighting that was wrong…His mind kept circling back to the light. It was wrong…as it filtered through the lashes of his half-closed lids…it was too bright.

Jason’s eyes flew open and he knew. They were in Italy, not France. It was years later and they were no longer lovers, but polite strangers. The night before, she’d woken him screaming in terror and he’d held her until they'd both fallen asleep. He knew it was unwise to still be holding her, but she felt so right in his arms, no matter the reason for it. 

He felt her stir restlessly. She drew her right knee higher until it pressed against his hip instead of his thigh. It brought them closer together. All that was separating them was the thin material of their sleep pants. In that moment he knew he desired Nicky Parsons more than he’d ever desired a woman in his life. Nothing else mattered but her, not his past, his lost memories, or the grief and guilt that still haunted him, not even the life he’d led with Marie.

“Jason,” Nicky murmured and instinctively rocked her hips while rubbing her nose against the muscles of his chest. 

Longing shot through him, blinding him with its intensity. If they didn’t stop now, there would be no going back.

“Nicky, wake-up!” he put as much steel into his voice as he could.

“’Morning, Sunshine,” her words were thick with desire. Her huge dark eyes reflected all that she was feeling.

“Wake-up, damnit,” his voice trembled as he gripped her shoulders. The last thing he wanted was to push her away, but if he didn’t, he would lose all that he had gained in the last few weeks. 

“Wha…what?” she whispered but the words caught in her throat. Jason had always taken great joy in making love in the morning. It was one of the many pleasures he’d introduced her to. Something was wrong.

“Nicky this isn’t Par--” He knew the instant reality crashed down around her. He watched her eyes widen and fill with sorrow. Cheeks that had been ruddy with passion went chalk white. He hated that he’d caused her pain again, but knew that if they had let things play out as they had begun, it would have been something neither of them would have been able to face. 

“Oh, my God!” She jerked back and rolled quickly to her right, landing in a heap on the floor beside the couch. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean…I must have been dreaming…”

“We both were.” He shook his head trying to clear his mind and wished his heart would stop pounding in his ears. 

“But I tried to…” Nicky couldn’t go on. It was clear what had been about to happen.

“Yeah, well, so did I!” He glared and stepped around her, putting as much space between them as he could and still remain in the same room. It caught him by surprise that it hurt physically to see her crumpled, leaning her arms on the coffee table, her knuckles white as they gripped the edges.

“This is not working,” he stated emphatically. “I gotta leave before I destroy you.”

“Wait.” She reached for him, but he kept his distance. “You’re always so ready to walk away. I need to get to the other side of…of…this, as much as you do.” Though her face remained impassive, her eyes burned with feelings he couldn’t place. “What happened on that couch was not us, as we are today.” 

“I wanted you…and if I’d been a little less awake, nothing would have stopped me. I’m a hell of a lot stronger than you.” The air crackled around them with the implication of his words. She rocked back, struck by the truths he was telling her, but surprised that he didn’t realize that she never would have tried to stop him. Strength had nothing to do with it.

“You weren’t alone in what happened.” Her finger shook as she pointed toward the couch, trying to catch her breath and search for logical answers to their problem. “We’re two healthy, young adults, living in close quarters…and well …it’s been months since you were with Marie and I haven’t… ah… I do not have casual affairs.” She would be damned if she’d admit that she hadn’t been intimate with a man since Jason.” 

“We have a past. We were lovers.” He cut to the heart of it. His body knew it was true even if he only had flashes of memories of his time spent with her. He knelt, careful to keep the coffee table between them.

“Yes, we were, but we are not now.” She gently grazed his arm with fingers that shook every so slightly to take the sting out of her words. 

“The…um…whatever…is still there.” It was hard for him to acknowledge, because he had always blamed Treadstone and his training for the wall he’d kept around his emotions, for his inability to go beyond desire, and protective friendship with Marie. He had told himself many times over that if they could simply stop running, stop looking over their shoulders and live like human beings that things would change, he would change, and if they didn’t, her love for him would be enough. Now, he was face to face with his past and he knew all his good intentions toward Marie were built on thin air. 

“I think the word you’re looking for is chemistry,” she added sadly. “What almost happened was a mistake. We need to be more careful or we’ll end up hating each other. You because I’m not Marie and me because… well…because things are different.”

He heard the words she wasn’t saying. “You mean I’m different.”

“No, we’ve both changed.” She studied the grain of the coffee table, refusing to meet his gaze for fear he would see what she wasn’t saying. That he looked and felt the same. His scent lingered on her skin from sleeping wrapped in his arms, like it used to. The nights she’d fallen asleep beside him felt the same. Nicky took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his. “Paris and everything that happened there is in the past. We are not those people any longer.” Her words were filled with fierce conviction. She had lived with the pain of his loss for too long, going back would break her. “All we can do is move forward and try for closure.”

He watched her warily, assessing every word, looking beyond the determined rise of her chin that was as hauntingly familiar, as it was defiant and saw all that she wasn’t saying. She was as trapped as he was by his amnesia. But there was another consideration that he couldn’t lie to her about. “It’s not that simple, I still want you,” his voice was a quiet breathy rumble as he returned to the problem as he saw it.

“You always have and I wanted you just as badly.” Admitting her feelings helped unclench her stomach and allowed her to breathe freely for the first time since waking.

Sitting on the floor, with her arms wrapped around her body, Nicky broke her own rule: she told him about their first time in Paris. She told him how he had breached the Safe House bringing lattes and baguettes; how he’d challenged her abilities to protect herself and all that had happened on that cold stormy day as he had forced her to improve her skills with a hand weapon.

“It sounds as if you seduced me.” Bourne grinned wickedly and then closed his eyes and tried to absorb what Nicky had told him. He could see an aging farmhouse, almost smell the air filled with the pungent odor of nitroglycerin from recently fired weapons and mold from old furniture and dustcovers, but as much as he wanted to picture what it was like to really make love to her, that memory eluded him. 

“You didn’t put up much of a fight.” She laughed softly at the memory. 

“I’m sure I didn’t.” He gently pushed her hair out of her eyes. He still wanted her, but knew that he did not feel the love for her that she felt for the man she had lost. He was not that man anymore and had no idea how to be.

“We can do this, Jason, we can find the answers that will set us both free. We are adults. If we set our minds to it and are careful, we’ll be all right.” She stood slowly, gripping her hands tightly to keep them from trembling. It took all her courage, but she looked him in the eyes and calmly suggested, “If things get too difficult for you, as your therapist, I’d prescribe a discreet overnight trip to Naples or Rome for--”

“No,” he barked and faster than she could blink, he was on his feet and around the table. Jason grabbed her upper arms, lifted her to her toes, and dragged her body tightly against his. He was caught in cold dark anger he didn’t understand. “And where will you be while I’m getting my therapeutic fuck?” He couldn’t wipe the picture from his mind of some faceless man touching her, running his hands over her body and doing all the things to her that he ached to do. The thought made him seethe.

“Jason,” she gasped. “That...it…I---”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He pressed his face against her temple and whispered against her ear, “Who is gonna make you beg ‘til you’re too hoarse to scream when you’re finally allowed to come? Who is going to do that to you while I’m busy gettin’ my rocks off?” 

“Stop it. It’s not like that.” She shoved against his chest, her face flushed, and her skin burning. She was alive with memories. She could almost hear the street sounds of Paris in the distance and remember the feel of his hands ringing her wrists. She knew exactly what it felt like to have his hips pressing her into the mattress, as they did everything he feared she would seek in a stranger. Then there had been nights he’d held her immobile and lightly tasted every sensitive area of her skin, until she begged and cried for relief. She was acquainted with all the facets of Jason Bourne, lover, from exquisite tenderness to demanding control, but for her, they were gone. He loved another.

Jason froze in shock. He had done this to her before, shook her and threatened her, but not in his dark forgotten past. It was from months ago in Berlin, under Alexanderplatz Station with his temper spiraling out of control. He had felt an overwhelming need to be close to her, even if it had meant shoving her against a wall and terrorize her to do it. He had needed to touch her and now he finally understood why.

“I’m sorry, Nick,” he gasped and turned away. “I’m sorry for today and what I did to you in Berlin.” Jason’s hands shook and a weight squeezed his chest. “I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you. You would have been better off, if I’d left you alone from the beginning.”

“No, don’t say that. The only things I regret are being too blinded by emotion to catch any problems you were having, and that I didn’t go with you when you left Paris that last morning.” She shrugged, knowing she couldn’t change a thing. “We can't do anything about the past except learn to live with it. Right now, you and I have to decide if we are willing to do what is necessary, in the present, to change the future.” Her hands were trembling so she balled them into fists to maintain control. Once again, they’d come too close…their passion had almost overwhelmed them. “I'm going to shower and get dressed. When I come out, I want you gone, if you aren’t willing to work with me to make those changes. That includes keeping your distance and I’ll do the same." She turned quickly, so he wouldn’t see her eyes fill with tears. 

She was sure that she’d just seen the last of Jason Bourne.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later Nicky opened her bedroom door and was met by the fragrance of freshly brewed coffee. It made her heart pound and her knees weak.

“You’re still here.” She smiled as she entered the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he nodded and put slices of bacon in the cast iron skillet. “I’m tired of living on instinct and adrenaline. I’ll take the chance, if you will.” His eyes followed her movements. There was worry and warning in his deep blue depths.

“All right, we need a new game plan and some house rules.” Nicky nodded, understanding the silent message he transmitted. “But first we need some food.” 

After they ate, Jason showered and dressed before meeting her in the living room.

“I think it would be best if I moved back to where I camped when I was doing reconnaissance on the cottage and surrounding area.” He suggested, letting his pack slide down his arm to the floor. 

“Is that instinct and adrenaline talking or you?” Nicky challenged. She was drinking tea, curled up in a large padded rocker. She was hidden from prying eyes, but had an excellent view down the twisting road, to the Mediterranean far below.

“What do you mean?” He glared at her.

“Why do you want to move out of the Gatekeeper’s lodge? Take as long as you need to figure it out. Is it for surveillance or are you worried that we may have another problem like this morning?” 

“It’s the logical conclusion.” He stated emphatically. “The only way to survive is to ignore feelings and follow logic.” He frowned; unsure where the idea came from, but Jason had known that thinking like that had kept him alive since French fishermen pulled him out of the water two years earlier.

“You’ve told me that once before and thank goodness you threw logic out the window that time.” She smiled sadly at the memory of the first time they’d made love. “But my question has nothing to do with the past. I want you to tell me what prompted your suggestion that you sleep elsewhere. I’m not finding fault or judging. I simply want to understand why and be sure you do too.”

He watched her carefully, trying to discern what Nicky was thinking. Her face gave nothing away. It was impassive but serene and open at the same time. “You’re playing therapist.”

“I’m not playing. I am doing what I should have done since you arrived: ask the tough questions and dig until you answered them.” She took one last look out the window and then sat back, her entire attention on the man across the room from her. “Why do you want to move out, for surveillance or worry about living in close quarters with me?”

He sat on his pack, rubbed his hands together and searched his mind. “A bit of both.” He met her steady gaze. “This property has outdated security. We’ll both sleep better if…”

“Jason, how much sleep will you get holed up in your sniper’s blind watching the plateau every night?”

“Damnit Nicky, that is not the point.” He leapt to his feet and began to pace. “With me out of the house when you are sleeping, you would be safe.”

“Yeah, until you passed out from exhaustion. How long do you think you’d last guarding all night and trying to make it appear as if you live a normal life by day? There is an entire town full of people down that hill. You can’t simply pretend they aren’t there, unless you want them asking questions.” She glared at him. “More importantly, you’re already sleep deprived, that isn’t going to help you get your memory back.”

“I get my best sleep when you’re beside me.” Jason huffed softly, surprised at the honest answer.

“We both do,” she admitted with a slight blush. “But that isn’t an option anymore. Unless…” Nicky’s dark eyes met Jason’s blue ones before continuing. “There might be a compromise. It’s not long term but it may be enough for us both to get some much-needed rest. The second floor is one large empty room. We can move our mattresses up there. It would be sleeping alone but…kind of…together. Just knowing…uh…someone is in the same room, being able to hear you breathe at night would help. I know it’s unprofessional, but not as bad as my actions in Paris.” Her voice choked and she buried her face in her hands.

Jason was by her side instantly. His first inclination was to hold her but he froze, aware of their new bargain. Instead, he crouched beside her chair and settled for placing a careful hand on her shoulder. “Nick, what happened to me is not your fault.”

“How can you be sure? What if I missed something because I just didn’t want to see it?” 

“Because I trust you. You’ve got my back now and eventhough I can’t remember it, you had it then. If you’d had doubts about my abilities, you would have never let me leave Paris.”

“Do you trust me enough to sleep at opposite ends of a large room from me?” She smiled as she wiped tears from her cheeks and pushed her doubts about those last few days in Paris as deep down as she could.

“Let’s take a look at what we’ve got to work with.” He said as he headed for the stairs with Nicky only steps behind.

The room under the eaves had been servant’s quarters back in a time when even a gatekeeper would be given a housekeeper, cook or cleaning woman. The floor was oak, and like any of the other hardwood floors in the cottage, had been refinished some time in the last few years. The wall to the right of the entrance at the top of the stairs contained a large stone fireplace. There were three arched, leaded-glass windows along the front of room.

“Wow, look at that view.” Nicky opened the latch at the side of one of the windows and swung it outward. She looked down on the garden wall and grass that led to the cliff, further out there were colorful rooftops slanting down to the Mediterranean far below. Along the horizon, over dancing waves there were smudged outlines of islands. “It looks like the help had the best room in the house.”

“What’s in here?” Jason knelt in front of two wide cupboards. Located on the wall opposite the fireplace. 

“I…uh never looked inside.” She realized it was a tactical error that could prove costly. “Servants’ quarters, two identical storage spaces…it seemed normal.” She shook her head and moved to his side as he opened the cupboards.

“Look at that.” They were filled with circuitry and grounded electrical plugs. 

Nicky gripped his shoulder with cold fingers. “Are we blown?” She mouthed in terror, unsure of the significance of their find, but careful. If there were listening devices she didn’t want to be heard. 

“No,” Jason shook his head and gripped her hand in reassurance. “This has been here three, maybe four years and has nothing attached to it. It explains why your security system looked like it was put in by an amateur.”

“What does this have to do with my security?” Computers and research were her specialty. Wiring was beyond her, but give her a laptop and time and she would figure it out.

“I think the wires, I so carefully hid the first morning I was here, were a decoy. This is part of your real system or will be with the necessary additions.” That morning’s discovery was going to save him days of work. “We need to find where this originates. The one on your front door wouldn’t keep out your average bugler.”

“As you proved the night you broke in.”

“Hey, from all the information I’ve got on Jason Bourne, he…I am not ordinary when it comes to breaking and entering.” 

“Locks didn’t keep you out.” She remembered the first time he broke into the Safehouse and things began to fall into place. “You must have put this in. It is more proof that this was to be your bolt hole if needed.” Nicky stepped back in shock. He really had meant for them to run away together, or at least have the option of being together. The wedding certificate in her lock box proved it. “You planned all of this.”

“I couldn’t have. I’m sure I’ve never been to this part of Italy before. My memory is a mess, but I have a sense about places. I’ve trusted that sense for the last two years and it has not failed me... Even in India, I knew we were safe until I knew we weren’t.” His voice was rough with memories he wished he could forget along with all the rest. He cleared his throat and shook away the sorrow. “You should know better than anyone. Was I ever assigned to work anywhere on the Amalfi Coast?” 

“Not while I was with Treadstone. You didn’t have any assignments in this area.” That was all the assurance Nicky could give him. “And the last orders you received were the only ones I know of that didn’t come through the Safehouse, except for Berlin, before I came on board. We only discovered that recently.

“You may not have been here physically, but you could have ordered all this,” she insisted. The importance of when the work was done kept screaming at her. “You bought this place, provided me with the documents, directions, and a ready made identity. The dates on the purchase agreement coincide with your estimate of the latest restoration of this cottage.” She twisted her fingers in worry. “I didn’t know anything about it until I went to my safe deposit box in Rome. I told you this before, but we never really talked about it.”

“May I see those papers?”

“Of course, it’s your property.” She assured him and headed for the stairs.

“Nick, wait.” He reached for her arm and let his hand drop the second he touched her skin. “The Gatehouse is yours. I obviously wanted you to have it. Shhh…” He stopped her when she tried to argue. “I have to know you are safe no matter what happens.” He wasn’t sure what was behind that driving need.

Nicky knew there was no sense in arguing with him now, but once they had rested and worked on his memory, she would approach the subject again. Under the circumstances she didn’t feel comfortable taking a gift of this magnitude from him. If it came to it, she could always slip away in the night. He had trained her well, not even he would find her if she didn’t want him to.

They sat at the table and Jason went over the blueprints from before and after the renovations. The deeper he dug into the changes made on the cottage, the more he was sure Nick was correct. He had ordered the improvements and taken care of the bills under the name of Jean-Paul Benoit. Despite the bad things he’d learned about his life as Jason Bourne, he was also discovering just how smart he’d been and it appeared, how important Nicky Parsons was to him.

M. Benoit had signed off on all renovations and modernizations to the house. That included redoing the entire electrical system and running special wiring and cables to the old servants’ quarters turning it into an ‘office’, as it was labeled on the latest schematics. 

In the basement there was a ‘smart room’ next to the wine cellar. A lot of new construction in the United States was being built with one. All incoming electronics were set-up in one room. That room could contain the new circuit breaker box, incoming cable, main alarm system, and dock for a sound system, Wi-Fi transmitter, and hot water heater. It was located next to the wine cellar, both rooms built into the side of the cliff to keep them cool and protect them from the heat of the boiler room at the other end of the basement.

What they had was the barebones of a very elaborate surveillance and security system masquerading as simple household equipment. It would take some work, but he knew he could get it up and running for Nicky.

“This is good, very good. We should check out the basement room. Have you been down there?” Jason smiled with satisfaction, as he folded the papers back into a neat packet and handed them to her. 

“Yes. It was creepy enough that I gave it a thorough inspection and then padlocked the door on this side.” She shrugged embarrassed at her response. Intellectually she knew spiders were harmless, it was men with sniper rifles she needed to worry about.

Moments later they were in the basement. Bare light bulbs hung above their heads so they could see where they were going. “Here, it’s this one.” Nick indicated as she twirled the combination on the lock. “There are cobwebs,” she warned. She could see humor sparkle in his eyes as she looked over her shoulder in distaste, but he didn’t laugh.

They looked around the room carefully inspecting each wall as they went. “Oh yeah, this will do nicely.” Jason swiped away spider webs as he opened two circuit breaker boxes. “These will handle everything and you don’t have to worry that those shiny new kitchen appliances will burn the place down once we’re finished.” He took a moment to check out a small back-up generator that had never been used. It would keep their security intact even if the electricity failed. “All of this was put in when the renovations were done. I’m guessing it was left unfinished so the workmen wouldn’t know what it was to be used for.”

“Three years is a long time in the tech world. Anything that was installed then would be antiquated by now.” Nicky added. “You may have wanted to wait until you were going to actually use the property.” 

“There is that too.” He agreed, and had to wonder just how soon the man he’d been had planned to make his escape from Treadstone. “How would you feel about a trip to Rome tomorrow? We need to purchase some electronics and I’d rather do it in the biggest city we can.”

“We should try Naples too, when I stopped there to get my hair done and do some clothes shopping, I saw a number of large computer and technology stores.” 

“Good idea, we should buy from as many different stores as possible. It will be less obvious what we are using the equipment for and harder to trace. ” He shrugged and added, “Just because you're paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.” 

“Kurt Cobain, or Joseph Heller in Catch 22?” she asked. “Both are credited for saying it. My bet is on Heller. Catch 22 was published in 1961 and Cobain wasn’t born until ’67. Sorry, it’s the curse of a photographic memory. I can annotate anything I’ve ever read.”

"Aren't you a bit young to remember Nirvana?"

"Not when I dated an older man for almost two years." It was so easy to flirt with him. There were times it felt as if they had never been apart.

"Ouch, that hurt." He stepped back with his hands over his heart as if he’d been shot, but recovered quickly when her eyes darkened and filled with sorrow. That photographic memory of hers was probably playing hell with her feelings.

“You remembered,” she gasped. It felt like the floor was shifting beneath her feet “You were able to put together Nirvana and Kurt Cobain.”

“Yeah…but…I’m not sure how.” He frowned and searched his mind for more information, but nothing came. “Most of my amnesia has been self specific… but that?” He shrugged. He couldn’t remember anything else about his taste in music. Maybe it was significant?

“Leave it, don’t push yourself.” Nicky advised. “It was something from your past and that’s good.”

“Okay,” he shook his head, to drive away the feelings of defeat. “I want to make a list for tomorrow and then undo the work I did on the security system at your door. This place needs to appear as low-tech as possible. Just because M. Benoit planned on putting in fancy computers in his office, doesn’t mean that the widow Benoit did. It might be a good idea to buy a cheap laptop. I’ll encrypt and hardwire all the security we’re putting in and hide it behind the footprint of a simple, hardly used computer.”

“While you’re figuring out what we need, I’ll air and clean the top floor room.” She’d given it a quick once over with a dust rag and mop when she’d moved in, but if they were going to be sleeping in there, it needed more than that.

“As soon as I’m through, I’ll be up to help you.”

“I…uh…can handle it.” Nicky wanted nothing more than some strenuous work and some privacy to help clear her mind. For one tiny moment she’d thought he’d remembered. Between that and their casual banter, her composure was cracking. She was afraid she would break, unless she was given time to shore up her flagging emotions. “Get started on lunch when you’re done with what you need to do, I shouldn’t be long.”

“Okay, but let me know when you need help hauling the mattresses upstairs.” He could see the frantic look in her eyes and knew exactly what demons were chasing her. The papers he’d gone over told an interesting story. Four years ago, the Jason Bourne he’d been had begun meticulously creating a safe haven and he had included a place at his side for his lover. Now that same man didn’t remembered her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jason,” Nicky whispered to the still form across the room. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah, you okay?” He sat up and faced the dark spot where he knew her mattress was located. It was their first night in the large open room and he had been on the verge of sleep.

“There is something you need to know before we go to Naples and Rome tomorrow. I broke into the CIA’s main database and changed our official ID’s and any pictures generated from them. We should avoid cameras anywhere we can, and use hats and sunglasses, like we planned, but facial recognition software won’t pick up our pictures.” She smiled slightly. The memory of what she’d done eased her worry about their buying trip the next day. 

“When did you do that?” He grinned at her initiative. 

“After Berlin, but before I arrived in Spain. All the news photos they were running of you are wrong. The changes I made were small and didn’t fool the operative in Tangier. He was looking for gender, appropriate age, general coloring, and approximate likeness to the photos he was emailed. A computer measures bone structure, the addition of a wig or a mustache won’t fool that, like it might the human eye.”

“Were you able to break in without leaving any tracks?” He was amazed at her skills.

“I think so, but it doesn’t matter. The changes are made and they would need a model to undo the damage. If they realize what I did, they will try harder to find other photos, but there aren’t any. I ran a special program that I’d written just to be sure. It was an updated version of the one I used in Paris to comb through all online media to change any accidental captures of Treadstone operatives and personal.” She pointed to herself. “You and I were always careful. We avoided cameras meticulously, but then we had more to hide than the others. We were careful to destroy anything from my past. There was only one other image that existed of you, other than your official ID. It was take from an airport camera when you were coming out of India. You looked straight into the lens, daring them to recognize you. My program made identical changes to that one, as well. Too many people know about it to simply make it disappear.”

“There is one other of me.” He thought of the faded picture he had taken with Marie. “I’ve got it. I’ll destroy it tomorrow.”

“Jason, you don’t have to.” She was sure that he wasn’t the only person in that photo.

"Yeah, I do.” He lay down and turned over, cutting off further conversation.

The next morning she didn’t ask and he didn’t volunteer any information about the picture, but Nicky found a small pile of ashes in the living room fireplace, that hadn’t been there the night before.

Despite leaving early, they didn’t get back to their hilltop home in Positano until almost ten at night. They’d carefully divided their purchases between a number of electronics shops in both Rome and Naples.

The following day the real work began. Each night they fell into their respective beds tired but satisfied with the progress they were making. Both of them slept soundly with no dreams to haunt them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took Jason, with Nicky’s help, over two weeks to create an in-home security system he was comfortable with. The time consuming part wasn’t putting the pieces together, but doing it in such a way that it didn’t leave behind a technological marker any larger than a small laptop. It was exacting precision work that demanded mental and physical effort.

The old flower boxes under the three windows of their room became homes for hidden cameras. All had zoom capabilities and each was angled to cover an overlapping section of the property and house. No one could get closer than two hundred feet to the Gatehouse without being seen and setting off an alarm. As a back up to the cameras, Jason added sensors to the hinges of the gate and every few inches along the wall that ringed the cottage.

Once he was through working on the walls, Nicky began putting in natural protection at their base. She planted roses bushes every four feet. She chose her bushes by the size and amount of thorns, not the color of flower they produced. Inside the wall, where there was shade for part of the day she planted wild blackberry bushes. They both knew that the plants wouldn’t keep out a determined operative, but the sensors and tripwires they hid among them would be the last layer of warning devices before the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After returning from their shopping trip, they began a new pattern. At bedtime, they turned off all the lights in the main part of the cottage before they checked the locks, blackout drapes, and sections of the security system that was functioning. Each went to their bedroom to change for bed. The lamps in their old rooms had timers that were set to turn off at different times each night. Once they had changed for bed, they left the lamps on, closed their doors and went upstairs to where their mattresses were. They never lit the way or turned on a light once they were there. If anyone was watching the house, they would think their targets were still sleeping in the rooms on the main floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nicky gave Jason one week of restful sleep before she started therapy sessions. They were still installing security in and around the cottage, but they were also sleeping well. He didn’t like halting work early, but she insisted and he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. If he wanted her to help him, he had to accept it and do it her way.

“We are both sleeping better, knowing someone we trust is in the room. There is something else that I think is helping with that. We’re not driving ourselves like we did the first few weeks you were here. The manual labor we’re doing has replaced some of the strenuous exercise---”

“No!” He shook his head knowing exactly where she was going with this. He was terrified of stopping the regime he’d clung to since waking up on a fishing boat in the middle of the Mediterranean, with no idea of who or what he was. “I would be dead a number of times over if I hadn’t driven my body.” He believed it was why he was alive and Marie wasn’t. “Hell, that operative would have killed you in the back alleys of Tangier, if you hadn’t kept in shape. You were smarter and faster than he’d anticipated. If you hadn’t been, he would have gotten to you before I got to him. Pushing ourselves gives us the edge necessary for survival.”

“There is more to it than that, Jason.” Nicky took a deep breath. She knew she’d never convince him to relax if she couldn’t maintain her professional calm. “I’ve been following the same rigorous program since Treadstone blew up in my face and I am bone tired. It’s only been the last week I’ve gotten healthy sleep. Before that, every time I’d close my eyes, I was haunted by the past. It’s been made worse because we’ve gotten in the habit of using extra workouts as stress relievers. I don’t see any evidence of either of us relaxing, until now.” Nicky knew full well exercise had been an outlet for sexual frustration. “Any physical advantage is lost when we’re emotionally drained. During the day we spend hours running mountain trails and when we closed our eyes monsters chase us through our dreams. We need to go back to a more sensible schedule, like when we lived in Paris.”

“I don’t remember.” He was curt and not really interested in what she had to say. Marie had tried to get him to cut back, too and she’d ended up dead.

“I know, and that’s part of the problem,” she quickly backpedaled when his glare deepened. “When I said how we were in Paris, I didn’t mean you and me together, but how we managed our lives when we were stationed there.” Her words were stronger, more decisive. She was back in therapist mode. “There is a theory that states, when you can’t remember your past, you have trouble imagining a future. The only past you’ve had, for a long time, is of a man who fights and pushes himself every second. It’s the past of a man on the run. That is the template you’ve built your life on. It has created a person who will burn out if he keeps going like he is.”

“From what you’ve said, and the tiny bits I remember, that isn’t any different than when I was Jason Bourne the operative.”

“That’s only partly true. You were like that before I was assigned to the Safehouse. All of the Treadstone agents were having problems. They did their jobs perfectly, but were driving themselves. It caused issues staying anonymous in their everyday life. One or two had a problem with uh…well…Conklin called it…uh…unsanctioned violence. That was one of the reasons he brought in a person with a background in psychology.”

“What did you call it, this violence?” he demanded.

Nicky pursed her lips and glared back at Jason. “I’ve already told you more about other patients than is professionally---”

“Cut the crap, Nick.” He interrupted her. “At this point I need to know everything you can tell me. Just what kind of monster am I going to turn into?”

“Not you, Jason, never you,” she whispered. “They were worst case examples of what Treadstone’s methods could create. I think it was there actions, not yours, that brought an end to the training program. Both men liked their…uh…their sex rough and had lost any sense of…well…boundaries. I was able to help them establish personal limits.”

“They brought in a woman to deal with men who were sexually abusive?” Bourne was astounded at how careless his boss had been. “Did I know this before…when we were… well… in Paris?” He’d taken to using her euphemism for when they’d been lovers. 

“Of course not. It would have been highly unprofessional for me to share that information with another operative. I shouldn’t have told you now.”

“I’m glad I killed the sick bastards!” He remembered killing one on his way to Berlin and the reports he had handed over to Pam Landy said he was responsible for the deaths of all but one other.

“Jason, that’s anger and frustration talking.” She insisted, refusing to believe he was pleased about causing death.

He leapt to his feet to pace away his excess energy. His temper sizzled along his nerve endings while he wrestled for control of his emotions. “You were taking a damn big chance,” Bourne growled.

“I was careful and I knew what I was doing.” She couldn’t believe he would doubt her abilities, but then he had no memories, what else could she expect. “None of the Treadstone agents every harmed me in any way.” 

“You’re wrong there, Nicky.” He stood over her with his fists on his hips and his face devoid of emotion. “I did or are you forgetting the tunnels under Berlin.”

“You did not hurt me.” She glared and stood facing him, inches away. “If you had wanted to, you were more than capable.” She poked him in the chest to underscore her words. “So sit down and let’s get back to what’s important.” It was not a suggestion. She was taking control of the session and he’d better cooperate. 

“Nick---”

“No.” She pointed to his chair and calmly took hers, carrying on as if there had been no disruption. “As I was saying, your training had erased all your prior memories. Daniels told me that they did it deliberately to create soldiers without a conscious. He said Conklin believed that it would prevent problems that occurred when men were pushed passed their moral threshold. What hadn’t been anticipated was that with no real sense of right or wrong and no memories of the past, your future was founded on the actions of the present. The only thing any of you had to base your lives on was violence.” She laid her hand on his arm to cushion her words. “For some, brutality was bleeding over into their cover identities.”

“Yeah, right, as I said, terrifying you and shoving you against a wall under the train station in Berlin.” Jason shook himself to be rid of the old ghosts that haunted him and the new ones created by thoughts of the small slim woman beside him dealing with men capable of such aggression. In this case, dealing with him. 

“Sure I was frightened, but I’ve been afraid for two years.” She was angry now and it leaked into her voice. “You-did-not-hurt-me, so get the hell over yourself and get back on track.”

Bourne gritted his teeth to keep from saying more and sat there glaring until he calmed down. It hadn’t been anger, but guilt that had sent his temper spiraling out of control that day in Berlin. It was guilt that Marie had died only days earlier and one look through the scope of his rifle and all his plans were shot to hell. One look at honey colored hair and dark eyes and his insides shook. It wasn’t fair taking his sins out on Nicky, especially when she was trying to help him. “So,” he breathed deeply and relaxed his shoulders. “So how did we accomplish staying in shape and not drive ourselves insane?”

“Pretty much like we’ve done for the last week. We used free weights almost daily but do other things too. We monitored our aerobic workouts to be sure we were getting enough cardiovascular exercise. Sometimes we ran but we’d go hiking or take bicycle trips, too. You taught me rock-climbing, though we had to be careful with that one. You are too proficient to do it anywhere there might be an audience. We’ve hiked in the Pyrenees. I don’t think there is a city or small town around Paris where we didn’t spend an afternoon or evening playing escape and evade through the back alleys. It was how I knew what to do in Tangier.”

“How were you…uh…we able to be that open and not get caught?” He was amazed how casual his life had been with her.

“Like with rock-climbing, we were careful about where and when we went places. With my job, I knew the location of every security camera in Paris and any town, city, or village in Europe.” She tapped her temple to assure him the information was still locked away in her memory. “You told me once that no one would be looking for a CIA operative on a date and people see what they want to see.”

“It’s hard to believe I was ever that optimistic.”

“I wouldn’t call it that. It was more…more...” She grimaced, and searched for the right words to describe him. “You were careful, controlled and always on the lookout, but determined to have a life outside of Treadstone. We…uh…laughed…a lot in those days.”

“I’m sure.” His lips curved up at the edges, able to hear what she really wanted to say: they had loved a lot in those days. He wished he could remember…he wished things hadn’t happened the way they did. If it had been different, he may not have done such damage to the two women who had loved him. Marie would be alive and Nicky wouldn’t live with deep sorrow that she wasn’t always quick enough to hide.

“I brought this up now, because I want you to think about it while we’re finishing up the security system. When we are back to a day-to-day existence, I’m cutting back on the workouts. It is my advice, as your therapist, that you do too, but you have to feel safe and comfortable about it.”

“I’ll think about it.” Was all he could promise her.

“Jason, there is one other thing we should cover today. I need you to tell me, in detail, what you remember. ” Nicky probed gently. “It will give us a structure to build from. Start in chronological order, start with David.”

“I’m not sure those memories are real. Pam Landy told me my real name is David Webb and that my birthday is September 13, 1970. I have occasional vague memories of life growing up under big skies and wide-open spaces.”

“Do you think they are real?” Nicky sat in her favorite padded rocker. He was in an overstuffed chair to her right. The late afternoon sun was warm outside and the house was cool.

“I trusted Landy enough to hand over the files I stole and if the news is any indication, she went public with them. I think she believed what she was telling me was the truth.”

“What do you believe?”

“I don’t know. When I concentrate on David Webb, it feels like I took someone else’s life and used it to fill in the blanks. None of the hazy bits and pieces I remember about growing up feel like they belong to me.” His face filled with cynicism and doubt. “But then isn’t that just what my training would have taught me to do? Slip in and out of personalities and pasts as if they were coats to be used and then discarded when they were no longer needed.” 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It kept you alive.” She reminded him. “For now we’ll put David Webb under the category of ‘maybe’. What do you remember next?”

“My time on the run with Marie.”

“There is nothing before you met her? What about when you were found or anything about your last mission?” She needed information on how he was injured. It would help her figure out why he had amnesia.

“It comes back to me in flashes of bright light. I was on a large private boat, standing in the entrance to the lounge. My weapon was drawn. I could see the top of a black man’s head over the top of a couch. I should have fired then…but something…at times I think it was a noise…but…” He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to make sense of the odd pieces that haunted him. “I don’t remember why or how, but I was standing behind him and there was a child…or was it children?” He shook his head in hopes of dislodging more of the lost memory, but nothing happened. It always remained the same. “I remember an innocent young face and large brown eyes. I couldn’t take the shot.” His fingers dug into the arms of his chair and he struggled to remember more.

“It’s all right, Jason, let it come naturally.” Nicky recommended.

“Then I hit the water. It was cold but it helped take away the pain of the bullets that had hit…” He reached one hand to his shoulder. “Then there was nothing, until I woke up on a French fishing boat. I didn’t know who I was. Everything was blank…uh…Since the morning after the East River, I…uh…think I have had dreams or maybe it was only one dream about floating in water…it could have been either time or both, or none of them at all…I don’t know.”

“Were you shot anywhere else beside the shoulder? Did you receive any head injuries?”

“I’ve got lots of scars. One is in my left calf. I know that’s from New York. Another is on my upper arm from Moscow, but the others?” He shrugged in doubt. “I don’t know when I got ‘em. There’s one here.” He touched his head above his hairline. “And another behind my right ear.”

“May I check along your scalp?”

He nodded as she stood and stepped behind his chair. “Do you know how deep these were?” She ran her hands in his hair. Her sensitive fingers gently probed the scars on his head. “Sorry, didn’t mean to tickle you.” She responded to the shiver that ran through his body as her finger slid along his ear. Nicky was well aware he didn’t have a ticklish area on his body. 

“I’m not sure, but I think there may have been stitches to the one there…behind…uh my ear when I woke up on the boat.” He tipped his head, giving her extra access to the area, daring her to keep on touching him and enjoying every moment of it.

“They weren’t there when you left Paris...” Her voice cracked and she pulled her hands to her sides. “May I…uh…” She cleared her throat and looked him in the eyes, daring him to tease her about being embarrassed. “Where else were you shot? Could you have bled badly while in the water?” Oxygen deprivation to the brain due to blood loss would be another reason for damage, but his symptoms weren’t consistent with that kind of problem.

He took off his shirt and Nicky found five new scars that he couldn't account for and she knew had not been there when they were lovers. There was, also, a faint incision where he'd kept his information capsule.

“Any ideas?” he asked as he put his shirt back on. 

“All of those scars look to be about the same age, and I’ve never seen or felt them before, same with the ones on your scalp.” Nicky nibbled her lower lip to control the blush that was spreading across her cheeks. She tried to ignore the fact that she had once known his body so intimately.

“I have no memory of being shot, except in the shoulder, but I’m guessing they were all from that last mission. Between adrenaline and cold water, I’m not sure I would have felt much of anything.” 

“You are probably right.” She held on tightly to the emotions that were shivering through her. He could have drowned so easily and she never would have known. “I think that is enough for today. We’ve been going at this for almost two hours. We will start up again at 5:00 PM.”

“I’ll think about your suggestion that I cut back on my workout.” Just saying the words were hard for him, but he knew he’d been escaping into physical activity as far back as the fishing boat. He had a clear memory of doing chin-ups on an overhead bar that held nets. It hadn’t been simply to get his muscles in shape, it had kept him from brooding about his predicament.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night as each lay on their mattress, Jason tossed and turned. “Nicky you awake?” he whispered across the room.

“Yes.”

“Did you have any specific ideas about alternate aerobics?” He’d given it a lot of thought, and had to admit he was damn tired of running sprints up and down beaches and mountain trails.

“I want to do a lot of exploring. I want to learn every twist, turn and alley in Positano. I want to know the homes that have fierce dogs and the ones that don’t. If there is an unmarked dead end or sudden drop-off, I want to know it. I’m never getting trapped again like in Tangier. Then I want to explore the mountain trails, learn them like the back of my hand. Find any potential hiding places and the areas to avoid. Check for high water marks, so I know where it floods in the spring and…”

“Wow and you call me obsessive.” He cut in. 

“Well I didn’t say I was going to do it all in three days, like Mr. ‘I can do anything’ Bourne.”

“That’s good to know.” He laughed for the first time since they sat down in the afternoon to begin digging into his memories. “Summer is hot and humid in this part of Italy. Learning the town and trails will be hard work, especially since everything is built on steep hills” 

“So we’ll bring water,” she challenged. “Better to practice under the toughest conditions possible. If…when…if…well I want to be prepared. I was caught off guard the last few weeks I lived in Rome. I began having panic attacks that were brought on by claustrophobia. It was why I moved here.” She hated admitting the weakness, but it was only fair he knew. “I never had problems with that sort of thing before Africa.”

“Why didn’t you say something when we went shopping? You didn’t have to go along. I was glad for the help, it would have taken an extra day, but I wouldn’t want to put you through that.”

“I needed to see if I could do it. We were only there a few hours and I kept my cool. Now I know if we…I.” she corrected, keeping in mind that he was not with her permanently. “If I have to cut through Rome for some reason, I don’t need to worry about losing it at the worst possible moment.”

“I’d like to add one other thing to your ‘to do’ list of places to investigate. The bluff where I watched the cottage should have some work done on it. As much as I’d like to set up trip-mines, I have no desire to blow up migrating animals or tourists out for a picnic. It would be best if we hid some sensors and a camera or two.”

“Do we have to worry about farther up the mountains?” She rolled on her side to look toward the window and the rugged terrain she knew was out there somewhere.

“For surveillance, maybe, but this hill is so windy it would make a sniper shot of any distance almost impossible, despite all the new digitalized equipment they have nowadays. There is also the fog in the winter. If we are looking for some good exercise, it can’t hurt to check it out and maybe leave behind some sensors. I picked up some that aren’t sensitive until thirty pounds.”

“Are we being totally paranoid? I mean if they know where we are and want to take us out, one drone strike will do it and we wouldn’t see it coming.” Nicky flopped back onto her mattress, her mind a whirlwind of possibilities. 

“Hey, hey, relax. A drone strike on an Italian tourist town would be an embarrassment and damn hard to explain. If we’re discovered, it is more likely they’ll send in one operative or at most a small kill squad. We’re taking all the precautions we can, but nothing is one hundred percent certain. As long as we’re careful, and plan an escape in any direction, we should be all right.” He tried to reassure her, but given his past he doubted he was much help.


	6. And The Angels Proclaim

_No remorse and no shame –_  
Fire, fury and flame –  
Cos the devil’s to blame  
And the angels proclaim  
It’s a dangerous game! –  Dangerous Game – From Jekyll And Hyde

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_June 2008 – Positano, Italy_

“Nicky, there may be a issue with your Colette Benoit ID.” Jason stated as he meticulously reviewed the records that supported her cover. 

“What’s the problem?” She leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at the paperwork spread out on the table.

“Colette was a graphic designer for a video game company in Lyon. I’ve seen your sketchbook. You’re good. Art is art. It isn’t safe to use something from your real life.”

"I haven't drawn in years, decades really, until Rome. The only reason I hid there as an _artist_ , was because it was easy to blend in." She used finger quotes around the profession and rolled her eyes. "I hid among all the other young people who think they have talent, while I figured out what to do next."

"Why use it now as Colette? If you're very careful she is who you will be from now on?" He watched her closely looking for traces of uncertainty.

“You crated that cover for me.” She pointed to her fabricated work history, relieved that she didn’t have to think about running again, at least until she helped Jason deal with his memory issues. 

“I’m not doubting you, but it is hard when I don’t remember…” He rubbed his temples trying to force his past to become clear.

She pushed her bangs off her face and sat opposite him at the table. “Okay, long-story short, when I was little, I loved to draw. About the time I graduated from coloring books to watercolors and pencils, mom received the results of my kindergarten New York City Board of Education test scores. They were off the charts. A little further testing and it was discovered I had a photographic memory. 

“She sent me to private school so I could learn how to apply the knowledge that my brain naturally stored. Just remembering is enough when you’re learning how to spell, and it is great for languages, but it doesn’t always work for advanced subjects. The trick is to take facts and know how to apply them. It can be especially hard on people like me. We are used to being considered the smartest in our classes, then all of the sudden we need to do more than spit back facts. Geometry is a good example. Learning theorems is a snap, but looking at a set of shapes and deconstructing them takes application of knowledge.”

“So you gave up drawing in favor of school?” He got up and poured them both a glass of Nicky’s homemade lemonade.

“Pretty much, but don’t make it sound like I suffered. My school was academically challenging. I’d have died of boredom in public classes. I always knew I could go back to art at any time. When I was in my teens, I had this picture in my mind of me with grey hair and glasses, retired from a fabulously successful career, heading off to Europe with a bunch of twenty-somethings to paint up a storm. I did minored in art history as an undergrad, but that isn’t the same thing at all.”

“I’m still not sure how safe it is.” He didn’t know if he was being paranoid or not, but the idea of her ending up like Marie was more than he could stand.

“I was in Rome for almost three weeks before I found those papers in my safe deposit box. They are old and well documented, so you must have put them together when we were in Paris.” She was getting tired of this argument. It dredged up old memories that were better left buried. “And honestly, it’s fun, but I’m just not that good.”

“Why would you give me so much information about your past? You trusted me that much?” He watched her fingers tighten on the sweaty glass of cold lemonade and realized he’d stumbled over something that meant a great deal to her. 

“Yes, yes I did.” She shrugged and bit down hard on emotions that rolled through her. “If you’re still not comfortable with my cover, we’ll deal with it in the morning. I’ve got to get those herbs in the ground that Count Dinapoli’s housekeeper gave me. They’ll die if I don’t plant them tonight. I’ll be in the garden.” Her words were clipped and her face tense. 

Surrounded by the scent of basil, oregano, rosemary, parsley, and chives her hands moved automatically, while her mind drifted into the past.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_Paris – Feb. 3, 2004_

Nicky’s stomach clenched with fear. She and Jason had practiced evasion tactics for months, but today was different. This time it wasn’t a game. It was for real and she had only her skills to depend on. 

Nick wore large sunglasses, a close-fitting brown leather jacket, and jeans. Her hair was tucked under a trendy fedora, and her overnight tote was over her shoulder as she slipped through the main entrance of Gare du Nord, one of six main train stations in Paris. The crowd in the beautiful old terminal swallowed her in moments. After a quick check of her watch, she headed for a ladies room. Five minutes later, wearing a different hat and sunglasses, a hoodie over her leather jacket, and her tote converted into a backpack, she came out and joined the bustle of arriving passengers who had cleared customs. Careful to walk with a meandering stride instead of the determined steps when she entered the station, she made her way to a small side entrance where a car pulled up to the curb seconds later.

“Jason,” she mouthed his name as she opened the passenger door and slid in beside him. “I did it exactly like you taught me. I…” She couldn’t tear her eyes off the man she hadn’t seen in over a month and a-half. The only contact they’d had, after he coded-in his completed assignment status, was a curt businesslike message changing his monthly appointment at the hub. 

“I can’t answer any questions.” He warned, grim and tense, but relieved she’d made it to the meeting point without interference. 

“I know,” the words caught in her throat, because she did know. Nicky had passed him his orders and ten days after he left Paris, she’d read in the newspaper about a horrific fire that caused the death of a certain Swiss entrepreneur. The article had covered the tycoon’s many accomplishments both in international banking and charities spanning the globe. It spoke of the terrible accident that caused the man to be caught in his bedroom, when his furnace exploded and how lucky it was that his wife and two children were visiting her sister in London.

Nowhere was it even whispered that the dead man had made his real fortune dealing in arms and secrets to emerging nations and hostile rebels. Or that he ran a side business in black market organs. 

“I…ah…missed you.” Nicky ran her hand up and down Jason’s arm as he gripped the steering wheel while maneuvering through traffic.

“I…I couldn’t…get back sooner.” He clenched his jaw refusing to say more. Bourne had killed in difficult ways before but this time was different. It had made him face some truths about what he’d become and take some actions to protect his future. “I can’t talk about it.”

“I understand,” she whispered. 

Jason’s right hand reached for her jaw and he let his thumb travel from her ear to her chin without taking his eyes off the road. Nicky’s soft skin against his and her easy breath against his fingers sent a gentle tingle through his body, relaxing the long muscles in his back and causing his lips to twitch upward at the corners. “I missed you, too.” He didn’t realize until he said them how powerful those words were. She had become his anchor in a world that was changing all around him. 

An hour later they pulled into a deserted farmhouse north of Paris.

“We’ve been here before,” she stated. “You aren’t going to test my marksmanship are you?” The temperature was hovering in the 40’s F. and it and started to rain. “I didn’t bring clothes for that.”

“What did you bring clothes for?” They were parked close to the door behind a large stand of bushes.

“If I tell you, we’ll never make it out of the car.” Nicky lost the ability to speak as his smile turned sensuous and he kissed his way down her neck.

Before things could get out of hand,they unloaded the car in one quick trip. While Jason started a fire in the living room and bedroom fireplaces, she quickly went through their market bags, refrigerating anything that needed to be kept cold and then she joined him in the living room. One look around and she knew he had been here for the last few days. The rooms were clean, dust covers were off the furniture and there were dry logs piled by the door.

They came together in a crash of bodies, each fumbling for the other’s clothes. The more skin that was revealed, the more demanding they became. 

“Wait, bedroom,” he mumbled when he felt her reach for the snap on his jeans. They tangled together still pulling at garments and bumping against walls, as they made their way down a small hall into a room with a double bed that was already made-up. A trail of clothes, shoes, buttons, and Nicky’s torn bra were behind them. 

At the side of the bed Jason turned her around, pressing her back against his chest. He quickly cupped both of her breasts, trapping her between his body and the side of the mattress. His lips traveled up and down her neck as his fingers played with hardened nipples.

“Please, please,” she begged as fire shot through her.

“Shhhh,” he whispered. “We’ve got all weekend to enjoy ourselves.”

“But I need you now.” Nicky could hardly breathe.

He wrapped his left arm around her chest, under her breasts and clamped her tighter against him. His right hand moved over her stomach and slowly unzipping her already unfastened jeans before sliding under her panties to caress the skin where her legs were joined. 

“Jason,” she screamed his name and grabbed at his arm with both hands. “More,” she gasped. Her hips jerked against his hardness in time to his slow, teasing caresses.

Nicky’s body was on fire, but he wasn’t giving in to her. Through the haze of desire she remembered that night when he’d returned from his first assignment after they had become lovers. Jason had been like this then. 

The psychologist in her understood his need to assert himself and the woman who was his lover gloried in it.

Nick bit her lip to keep from begging and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, surrendering completely. Her body was his and she was along for the frantic pleasure. 

He turned her around and dropped her on the bed. Her socks were pulled off in seconds followed by jeans and panties. He knelt on the mattress and kissed her knuckles before pulling her hands to the old metal bedframe. “Hold on and don’t let go.” Jason instructed as he wrapped her fingers around cool spindles.

Moments later the rest of his clothes hit the floor and he joined her. His naked aroused body pressed against hers.

“Jason,” she cried out. Her back arched off the bed and her heels dug into the mattress. “Pleassse…”

“Stay with me, Nicky.” Jason ran both hands into her long blonde hair and kissed her deeply. “I need you to stay with me.”

Her tongue danced with his in response. Nick knew that whatever this man wanted from her, she would give him and keep on giving, because she needed it as much as he did. He’d been the one to teach her the extraordinary pleasure of waiting.

Jason kissed his way down her throat and chest until he took her right nipple in his mouth and ran his teeth gently around the hard pink bud and pulled until she cried out in pleasure that almost drove her over the edge. Her hands gripped the bed tighter and he moved on. His rough tongue laved the skin on her belly while one hand played with her other nipple.

They’d been sleeping together long enough that he knew every sensitive point and just how hard he could push until she lost all control.

She mewed in pleasure, as he tasted her everywhere always using slow, light touches, which kept her balanced on edge. The one time she unclasped her fingers and reached for him, trying to pull him closer, harder against her, he pulled away, leaving her bereft of his ministration.

“I told you not to let go.” He whispered against her damp hair and guided her hands back to the spindles of the headboard. “Now we have to start all over again.”

“Jason, I need you.” 

“I need you, too, Babe.” He cupped her cheeks and kissed her deeply, before working his way down her neck using fingers, tongue and teeth. 

It could have been hours or minutes later, but Nicky had no idea of time. They were both slick with sweat and panting before he finally took her shaking fingers from the metal bedframe and placed her palms on his shoulders. “Come for me,” he gasped, as he slid into her wet warm depth. “Come for me, Nicky.” He slid in again and again, as she cried out his name and her body tightened around him, causing him to unraveled along with her.

Nicky woke slowly to the feel of Jason playing gently with her hair. The room was dark except for the fire burning in the hearth. She stretched, deliberately rubbing her body against his.

“Hi there,” her voice was rough from shouting out his name.

“Did I hurt you?” Jason leaned on his right elbow and caressed her throat with his left hand. It was always his one fear. He was so much stronger than she was and there were times when he needed to be in absolute control. 

“No you didn’t.” She kissed his cheek. “Jason, you would never hurt me. If we were doing something I didn’t want to do, I would tell you.”

“Don’t trust me too far.” He warned.

“Sorry it is already too late for that.” She kissed her way up his chest.

This time when they made love, it was slow and sweet. Determined to make up for taking what he needed the first time, Jason spent hours touching, kissing, and tasting her. He lost count of the number of times Nicky's pleasure spiraled out of control while she called out his name. Finally he couldn't take it anymore. He rolled her onto her stomach and pulled her hips upward. In one smooth movement he slipped into her from behind. Every muscle in his body was shaking as her warm wetness gripped him. He wrapped his body over hers, needing to touch her everywhere. His left hand moved downward to where they were joined, massaging the wet nub that gave her so much pleasure. His right flicked her ridged nipples. When she began to shake too, he rocked his hips back and then forward, hard and deep. Three more forceful thrust and they both lost control. Nerve endings exploded and lights flashed behind closed lids. They cried out lost in each other, as they fell to the bed.

“Are you all right?” Jason kissed Nicky’s damp shoulder and moved slightly to the side so his total weight wasn’t pressing her into the mattress.

“Wonderful. I think you may have turned every bone in my body to liquid.” She reached behind her and caressed his flank. “How about you?”

“Sated…and starved.” He grinned.

“Isn’t that an oxymoron?” Nicky laughed. She always enjoyed Jason’s dry sense of humor.

“Possibly, but it’s true and you can add ‘in need of a shower’ to the list.”

“I’m on board about all three, but we’ll drowned if we bathe together.” She turned over enjoying the weight of his body against hers. “How about we split tasks. I’ll get started on a meal and once you’re cleaned up, we can switch off.”

Jason let warm water beat down on his body. His mind drifted and he realized he felt content for the first time in almost a month. He’d meant when he said when he told Nicky he felt sated. The feeling caught him by surprise and so did the comment. He knew he cared for her, but he was beginning to believe that it went much deeper than that. He’d already made preliminary plans that allowed for her. Before that could go any further he’d need some personal information from her. He hoped she trusted him enough to answer his questions without knowing why. Any explanation, even to her, would put them both in danger. 

Half an hour later they sat in bed eating a supper of cold chicken, tossed salad and a glass of Sancerre. They were naked except for the towel Nicky had wrapped around her shoulders to keep her clean wet hair from dripping down her back.

“If you ever had to do something other than the psych thing, something very different, that couldn’t be traced back to you, what would it be?” Jason sipped his wine and watched her closely.

She looked up into serious blue eyes and realized how important the question was and gave it the thought it deserved. “I’m assuming I wouldn’t be able to use any of the computer skills I’ve picked up at the Safehouse?”

“Nope, probably no computers at all.”

“I can draw, but haven’t done it since I was about six. I’ll never make much of a living as a real artist, but I’m good enough that with a little work I’d be able to sell to tourists on street corners, or get a job as a lower level graphic designer. Why?”

“Just wondering is all.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Is there any record or history of Artist Nicky?

“Nope I was busy with other things and always assumed I’d pick it up again when I retired.” Then she told him about her childhood and he asked probing questions until he was satisfied she could include her talent in her cover in a life that was far away from Treadstone, the CIA, or any one else from their past.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_June 2008 – Positano, Italy_

Nicky shivered at the old memory. She didn’t need to check the deed for the Gatehouse where they were living; she had perfect recall. The purchase date was January 15, 2004. A few weeks before Jason picked her up at the train station. It was obvious. Jason had been planning her retirement all along. His careful questions that evening in bed had given him information to build Colette’s background.

He stood at the garden door and watched Nicky. She was lost in thought, absently digging her trowel into the same spot over and over again.

"Nicky, Nick," he repeated her name but she didn't move. Jason knelt beside her with his left hand on her left shoulder and his right hand covering hers on the garden tool. "Easy does it," his words were soft and gentle when he felt her freeze at his touch. "What's the matter?" She was struggling with something, but didn't know how he could help or if he should even try. "I called your name and it was like you weren't here."

“Just an old memory, nothing important.” She tried to smile but her face was stiff. “I need to get these planted.”

“We can split the task. I’ll do the digging and you put the plants in the ground.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” She handed the trowel to him, ignoring that her hands shook from his words that had been hers that night at the farmhouse. To keep him from asking questions she asked one. “Are you comfortable with my cover, yet?”

“Yeah. I may not like Bourne the operative, but I trust his instincts, they’ve kept both of us alive.” He grunted.

“That’s a step in the right direction.” She knew he hated the man he’d been, but she believed until he accepted his past; it would hinder their efforts to restore his memory.

“Don’t.” He glared over his shoulder. “Do not even go there.”

“Okay, no problem.” They worked for a while in silence, both enjoying the calm quiet evening. “When we’re done here do you want help with your identity?” 

“That would be great. I’m here as Jason Connor Weston, as you know.” He’d given her the basics when he’d arrived, now it was time to fill in the details. “He is an American from San Francisco. It was a persona I created in 2005, but never used, so there is some good background already in place. He was going to be my final legend, but I made the mistake of thinking I was in the clear and went looking for Marie. It wasn’t safe…I …But I was wrong.” He looked into his shadowy past filled with doubts.

“Jason--” She reached across their small herb garden and this time she was the one to cover his hand.

“Don’t you dare tell me it isn’t my fault she is dead.” He ground out. “I never should have let her into my life. I didn’t pull the trigger, but if I’d simply left her alone--”

“Jason, stop this.” Nicky stood suddenly and insisted he listen to her. “You can beat yourself up all you want and it is not going to make a difference. The past is what it is and cannot be changed. Guilt is one of the stages of grieving. Feel it, accept it, and move on. Torturing yourself with ‘what if’s’ won’t make a damn bit of difference.”

“I thought the therapy session was over before dinner.” He snapped. Her head jerked as if she’d been hit and she gasped.

“I’ve had enough. Finish this on you own.” She shoved her garden gloves at him and headed into the house.

“Nick---”

“No, I do not want to hear it.” She spoke quickly and quietly. “Yeah, the official session is over, but I can’t simply turn off who I am anymore than you can. Losing someone you love hurts like hell. When that happens, you have two choices. You can give up and crawl into the grave with them, or you can work your way to the other side and learn how to live again. You need to figure out which it is going to be.” She turned and headed for the bath, keeping a tight grip on her emotions.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Nicky sat in the shower letting water beat down on her head as she cried. She was in free fall, wanting desperately to take her own advice, but how could she grieve for the loss of a person when he was sitting in her kitchen, very much alive? How could she stop loving Jason when more and more evidence was being shoved in her face that he had planned a life with her forever? She allowed herself to cry until there were no tears left. It was something that Nicky hadn’t done since that storage closet in Berlin.

When she finally went up to bed, he was waiting for her, awake on his mattress. “Nick, I know you’re right and I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

“Jason, it’s hard and I understand how frustrated you are, but please remember I’m trying to help you.” She lay down and turned toward him, though she couldn’t see him in the pitch black of night.

“I will. There is something I’ve been wondering about. Can you tell me why I was able to teach you to protect yourself and unable to get Marie to believe our situation was as dire as it was?” He shook his head remembering the car chases and shootings in Paris and the sniper at her brother’s vacation home. “She saw Treadstone agents at their most lethal. She should have…I don’t know…damnit…I just don’t know how I failed her.”

“You didn’t fail her.” Nicky sighed, not wanting to have to talk about this when she was already emotionally fried, but knew it was better to deal with things as they occurred. “Marie was like hundreds of young woman in developed countries. She had her wild moments, problems with family and employers, but she had never really seen the damage that can be done when planned and executed by extremists.”

“She did, I brought it to her door.” He glared into the dark. “Did the CIA have a dossier on her? Did you read it? Is that how you know so much about her?”

“Yes, in Berlin, when we were trying to find you. At that point I was the only one who didn’t think you had killed Landy’s agents a week earlier. I was searching for any corroborating evidence I could find.” 

Nicky turned over and hugged her pillow. “You didn’t bring violence to her, the Agency did and there are different levels of…of…well…terror. What Marie saw was aimed at a specific target: you. I doubt she thought she was ever in harms way. It was always Jason Bourne people were after.”

“I tried to tell her, but she just wanted to be happy. She thought the key was my missing memory.” He pictured all the different places they’d stayed and how much she’d wanted a life of their own. The rest had been an intriguing game she didn’t take seriously.

“It takes something major to make a person understand. I grew up in New York City. My mom played the cello for the New York Metropolitan Opera and gave lessons on the side. I never knew my dad. She got pregnant when she was in her last year at Juilliard. Mom and I lived in a brownstone on Bleeker Street that her grandmother had left her. My best friend Rachel’s grandparents lived next store and we had a great childhood. I was like Marie in many ways. The only sorrow I knew was my mom’s death from a stroke my senior year at NYU.

“Rachel’s dad was an FBI field agent and that’s all she talked about when we were growing up. We were both going to take the Bureau by storm, be the best agents they’d ever seen. In September of 2001 I was almost finished with my masters in criminal psychology at Columbia and she was in her last year of law school there. We had passed our initial interviews with the Feds and were thrilled. Then 9/11 happened. Do you remember what I’m talking about?” She checked to be sure Jason’s amnesia hadn’t left him in the dark.

“I have memories, but I’m not sure if it was something I experienced, read about, or saw on the news.”

“It was on every station for days, there was no escaping the horror. We, Rach and I could see and hear the destruction from the roof of our building. I learned what terror was on a global scale and it changed me. It changed both of us. I think it changed all of New York City that day and a lot of Americans.

“Rachel went into the anti-terrorism division of the FBI. I had wanted to be a profiler, but after 9/11…” She shook her head, though she knew he couldn’t see her in the dark. “It wasn’t what I wanted. Soon after I got a call from Alexander Conklin. I finished my degree, spent some time at ‘The Farm’ and Langley training, and then followed him to Paris.”

“Your background was criminal psychology? It doesn’t make sense that Conklin would want you.”

“My thesis was on professional criminals, mostly contract killers and how they blend in with society. I was exactly what he was looking for. Some of the Treadstone operatives were having problems keeping their cover identities intact.”

Nicky continued with the important part of the conversation. “That day in New York was what made me different from Marie. I learned and learned fast. When you pointed out my lack of skill that morning in the Safehouse, I was more than willing to let you teach me. I had come to Paris to make a difference and didn’t plan to die trying. Does that answer your question? It wasn’t you, it was life experience that kept Marie from believing the worst could happen.” 

“Did I know this about you? Did the Jason Bourne I was, know what you’d been through?” His voice was soft and words gentle.

“Not at first. It isn’t something I talk about.” She smiled sadly at an old memory. “You learned damn quick the first time I woke up gasping in fear in your bed. So you see, I’ve got plenty of material for nightmares even before you came along. That is one less thing you have to feel guilty about.”

“If it was bad enough to give you problems sleeping, how did you get it past Conklin?”

“He knew.” She laughed. “I didn’t realize it then, but you don’t walk into an interview with the CIA if they don’t already know everything there is to know about you. He wanted me for the Treadstone job and he dangled patriotism; protect America and the ones I love. He knew exactly which buttons to push. Not that I would have turned it down anyway. The way he described it made it sound like interesting work and something that I would be good at. You guys really did need someone on your side, so I’m glad I did what I could to keep you sane.”

“Let me get this straight, you’re a psychologist, an artist and have mad computer skills, anything else I should know about?” She could hear the laughter in his voice from across the room.

“Well the artist part remains to be seen. It is simply something I enjoy doing. I do have the college degrees that allow me to analyze the hell out of your scrambled brains.” She laughed at his groan. “As for the computer skills, that falls more under the remembering everything on the first go around and knowing how to apply it, besides I’ve gotta have a hobby.”

“Would you use that hobby of yours to help me tighten up Jason Weston’s background?”

“Sure, I said I would, just not tonight.” She yawned. “While we’re at it, we need to figure out what he is doing in Positano.” 

“The easiest answer to that he is having an affair with Colette Benoit.”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” she mumbled, as her stomach flipped at the idea. “While we’re at it, we should make up a few other identities incase things go south.”

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Jason and Nicky added to Weston’s background when they weren’t working on the security system or having a therapy session. Records were filled out and slipped behind firewalls to leave a computer trail of a past that had never existed. It told the story of a man who had served in Afghanistan for the US Army in an Explosive Ordnance Division. He disassembled IED’s, investigated the aftermath of roadside car bombings, and searched door-to-door to uncover bomb-makers at home. Jason was hurt when one of his men triggered a booby-trapped post-blast site they were analyzing.

Nicky suggested the explosion and injury to explain his scars and the holes in his memory regarding world events. It also allowed for his transient life style. He was a man who had come face to face with death. The experience made him want to live his bucket list, instead of simply plan it.

Weston was wondering Europe, working odd jobs along the way. He had been in Lyon, working the locks on the Rhone River, when he met Colette. Jean-Paul had died five months earlier in an auto accident. 

“It’s a good cover.” Nicky commented, as they went over the information on Weston one more time. “It’s loose enough that we don’t really need to do much more with it. You’ve been bumming around Europe for a couple of years, working here and there. You don’t need work records when hired as day labor and we’ve got your time at the locks well documented.”

“Yeah, but what is a woman like Colette Benoit doing with a guy like this?” Jason pointed to the records they’d compiled.

“She’s an artist, so there is no accounting for taste.” Nicky laughed, teasing him.

“This is serious.” Jason rapped his knuckles on the table to get her attention. He was not going to be the reason another woman died. “If my cover falls through, it will lead them straight to you. I’ve been here too long for you to be overlooked, otherwise, there would be no need for any of this.”

“Can’t you take a joke?” She glared. “Who knows why two people fall in love?”

“Stop thinking like an American. There is still a class system in Europe, especially in France. Why the hell would a financially secure, French widow even have a conversation with an American ex-pat who worked at the locks? I can’t think of a single place their paths would cross.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.” She got up and paced as she thought. “Colette is young, her husband died a few months ago. One day she takes her sketchbook to the river, below the locks. She’s depressed. It feels right to be drawing slow moving river traffic, instead of lovely architecture or happy people. While she’s there the weather changes, the wind kicks up…”

“A Mistral Wind…just don’t make this too romantic.” He breaks in laughing at the serious expression on her face as she spins her tale.

“Oh hush, Mistral Wind my foot. We want people to believe it.” Nicky continues. “But yes, that’s what they are called, the cold winds that blow down from The Alps and hit the Rhone River hard, good idea. It’s the right time of year, still winter. Mr. Weston offers her shelter and coffee. He speaks impeccable French, especially for an American, so that should remove one of Colette’s natural prejudices. She comes again the following weekend and the next and the one after that. They are two slightly broken people, him because of what happened in Afghanistan, and her because of the loss off her husband. They became friends and then lovers. They don’t plan on it being anything more than physical. In March she realizes that she cares for him far more than she should. It frightened her, so she ran and much to her surprise he followed. Is that too mushy?” She scrunched up her face unsure how she felt about the story.

“It sucks.” He snorted. “But Sylvie, Count Dinapoli’s housekeeper, will eat it up. All you need to do is drop some hits the next time you see her. She’ll drag the story out of you over some espresso. We can sit back and let her spread the word for us.”

“It also has the advantage that if…when…you decide to leave, you’ve got an easy out. We couldn’t make a relationship work, and begin to argue, until finally we call it quits and you move on.” Nick shrugged her shoulders and tried to keep any emotion from showing on her face.

“There is that too.” He agreed and made the final entries that created a history for him, unsure why her reminder that he was leaving was painful. 

“There is one other thing.” She stood over him nervously, unable to meet his glance. “If we are supposed to be lovers, we need to…well...?” She shrugged unsure how to say it.

“Act the part in public?” 

“It doesn’t have to be much, just…damn.” She ran her hands through her hair. “More important you have to stop using your room to change at night. If anyone is watching and sees two bedrooms being used, we’re outta luck.”

“Is it too late for this? I’ve been here a few weeks.” 

“No, I think the timing is about right. Just because you show up on my doorstep, trying to make things right, doesn’t mean I’m letting you back into my bed right away.”

“Ohhh, Colette, has a temper.” He grinned at her and wondered if Nicky was too.

“No, she is careful with her heart.” Nick headed into the yard to check the herbs they’d planted the day before.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Once the security system was installed at the Gatehouse, Jason was willing to give Nicky’s suggestion of abbreviated workouts a try with the caveat that if there was any reduction of physical ability and he was back to his old ways.

They decided to take it one week at a time. Over breakfast, they put together a schedule for the next seven days. It included weights, splitting muscle groups to not overtax any one set. They arranged time to work in the garden and the olive grove. By mid-morning, everyday, they headed out to begin chipping away at her ‘to do’ list. It extended their knowledge and security net for miles over mountain trails and rugged backcountry where only animals and an occasional hearty tourist wandered. It, also, gave them a thorough aerobic challenge. 

Their first excursion was to Jason’s old campsite. It was a steep climb to a bluff above the Gatehouse. According to the maps he had left in Nicky’s safe deposit box in 2005, the area they were headed to was on the inside edge of her property. If it had not belonged to her, they would have had to wait and work undercover of night. All of the land around their home was part of an Italian Reserve, with the exception of their elderly neighbor Count Dinapoli to the southeast. Jean-Paul Benoit had purchased the Gatekeeper’s Lodge and olive grove from the Count’s agent. 

They were always careful to speak French when outside, even if they were alone. It was natural that they would fall back into her native language when not conversing with one of the locals. If anyone should overhear them, it was what would be expected. There were some mountain trails used by an occasional tourist. It was summer and the town was full of visitors from all over the world, but only a venturesome few took the higher more strenuous pathways behind the cottage. Usually sightseers stayed on routes at lower elevations. But they weren’t taking any chances and did not speak English where they could be overheard. 

“I understand why you wanted to plant mines in this place.” Nicky examined the bowl shaped indentation. It wasn’t large, but it was a perfect sniper’s lair that looked directly down on the plateau where their home was located. The olive grove spread out to the right and disappeared from sight around the side of the slope. It didn’t give the cottage much cover from directly above.

“Since blasting it would draw attention, we need to do the work by hand.” He tossed her work gloves and one of the shovels he’d tied to his pack. 

They rearranged large rocks and buried sensors for the next two hours. 

“What do you think?” Jason stood back and carefully inspected their work. Waist-high rocks were moved until the basin was filled in. If anything was pushed out of the way, or anyone tried to dig behind boulders, alarms would be set off in the house. 

“Yeah, it’s good.” Nick panted, tucked her gloves and Hepburn style sunglasses into their pack and picked up the water bottle. She drank deeply, letting some liquid dribble down her chin and neck, while fanning herself with her hat. “But we should check it after the next few heavy rainfalls to be sure nothing settles in an unnatural way or slides out of place.” 

“Good idea.” He watched the woman who had worked as tireless as he had. Her sweat damp tank top and shorts clung to her body, hair flopped in her face and her skin was pink from exposure as much as exertion. “You are sunburned.” He pushed a blonde lock behind her ear and tipped her head back. He could see a small band of lighter skin where her hat had been on her forehead and another across her nose from her glasses. 

It took him a moment to realize that he was standing too close, and touching her for the simple reason that he wanted to. There was nothing sexual about it, simply the need to reach out and make contact. It had seemed natural, but he knew it wasn’t wise. He quickly stooped and repacked their haversack.

“Well, so are you.” Laughing she leaned over and removed his dark-glasses from his face. “Yup, definitely sunburned.” It was odd seeing him in a hat and shades. He’d always refused to wear them before, now they were protection against prying eyes and the glare from above.

“Give me back my glasses.” He crooked his finger at her and stood, trying to look menacing.

“But I like them.” She placed his aviators on her face, ignoring how they slipped down her nose, too big for her small boned structure. “See they almost fit,” she chuckled.

“Actually, not so much,” he smiled serenely. One step and he was almost on top of her. One more step and he gripped her upper arms, lowered his body and tossed her over his shoulder. “I think you’re suffering from heatstroke. You need to be cooled down.”

“Noooo,” she giggled. “Here, here these are yours.” She handed off his Ray-bans and he dropped them on the pack along with hers and both their hats, but he didn’t put her down. “Jason,” she admonished. 

He cut through the undergrowth and around rocks until he was beside a stream that bubbled down the mountainside until it widened into a small, deep lake at his feet. His sensible side was yelling at him to stop, but another man, one he didn’t remember, was cheering him on. 

“Don’t you dare,” she gasped when she heard water rushing over rocks that she couldn’t see.

“Or what, what are you gonna do to me?” he laughed. Jason wrapped one arm tightly around the wiggling woman on his shoulder. With his free hand he reached for her boots, unfasten them and then dropped them on the ground, followed by her heavy work socks.

“No, please.” Nicky knew just how determined he was when he set his mind to something, so she dug her fingers into the back of his t-shirt. It did her no good. He leaned over and sent her flying, letting her momentum pull his tee over his head, as she flew into the air. 

Nick landed in cool fresh water and slipped below the surface with Jason’s shirt clutched in her fingers. When she came up for air, she tossed his t-shirt at him, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “I can’t believe you did that.” She tried to look serious, but lost her battle. Giggles slipped out until it was hard to breathe and tread water at the same time.

“You better get over here before you drown.” He grinned and leaned toward her holding out his hand. She swam two quick strokes to get close enough to grab at his outstretched fingers and let him guide her to the steep rocky edge.

“I’m soaked.” Nicky complained as he pulled her up and out of the lake. 

“You’ll dry off, but how about a swim first?” He untied his laces and pulled off his boots and socks before tossing his soaked shirt over some tree branches.

“I’ve already been swimming, though the water did feel good.” She smiled. “I would have appreciated some warning.” Nick ran her hands through her hair to get it out of her eyes. 

“There won’t always be warnings. What would you have done if I had meant to drown you?” He asked in deadly earnest.

“I…” She gasped and slowly shook her head to clear it of the strong sensation of déjà vu. “I would have killed you,” she responded coolly and reached behind her to pull out a slim knife with a six-inch blade. She had hidden it in the middle of her back. The sheath was attached to the inside of her belt and concealed by her shorts and tank top. “You asked me almost the same question when you broke into the Safehouse bringing me breakfast that first morning. I’ve learned a few things since then.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He was sorry he’d put a damper on their afternoon, but relieved to know she was prepared for the unexpected.

“You didn’t.” She smiled and put her knife away. “You were being careful. I’m not sure I’d be alive today if you hadn’t insisted I look over my shoulder and be prepared at all times.”

“Okay then, you want to go swimming?” He stood up and reached down to help her up.

“Sure.” She grinned. “How did you know about this place?”

“This is where I bathed those six days and nights I was keeping watch on the cottage.” He crooked a brow and jumped into the water.

The tiny lake wasn’t large enough to swim laps so Nicky and Jason swam in circles and did surface dives, until they were both breathing hard.

“Okay, enough, I’m beat.” She slipped onto her back and floated, tired from all the physical effort of the day. It felt good to let the water support her weight in the dappled sunlight. Her hair spread out from her head and her muscles slowly relaxed. With half-closed lids, Nick watched Jason climb out of the water. His wet shorts hung low on his hips and his lightly tanned back looked slippery and wet. She knew exactly how he would taste if she ran her tongue over his taught skin and how his fingers felt as they dug in her hair to pull her head back so he controlled a kiss. She had to curl her hands into fists and close her eyes to keep from going after for him. 

Moments later the surface exploded as he cannonballed beside her. It sent water lapping over her face and nose. She sputtered and coughed as she splashed at him in retaliation. “You are such a…a guy,” she gasped.

“Guilty as charged.” He laughed and helped her to the rock ledge. His grip on her arm was firm. His emotions restrained, but it had been a close thing. As Jason had stood watching her float easily below him, he’d come close to...to...to... He wasn’t sure what. Nicky’s tank had been almost transparent as was her bra beneath it. He was able to see the dusky color of her areolas and hardened nipple through the sheer cotton. It made his hand itch with familiarity. Some part of him, deep inside knew exactly what it would be like to touch all of her and he’d almost slipped quietly back into the water and done just that.

“I’ve got it.” She cleared her throat and shook off his hand as she looked over her shoulder. Her dark eyes met dilated blues ones that were filled with want. Biting her lip, Nick grabbed the rocks and pulled, but her hold slipped and the momentum sent her beneath the surface.

“Easy.” He caught her around the waist and pulled her against him as she sputtered and choked water from her nose and mouth. “Can you breathe?”

“Yeah, I am fine.” She could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against her back and the gentle movement of water as his free arm kept them afloat. It made her hands tremble and she was unsure if she had the strength to pull herself out of the lake without falling again. 

“Up you go,” Jason’s words were strained as he wrapped both hands around her waist and did a powerful scissor kick. It was strong enough to lift them waist high in the water. Nicky was able to get a good hold of the rock ledge and pull herself out of the pond. 

“Thanks, I…uh…I…slipped.” Her voice cracked and she refused to look back. She quickly squeezed wet sockless feet into stiff boots and grabbed her dirty wet socks. “I’m…uh…I am going down. I need a shower.” She spoke quickly her breath catching between words, unable to take her eyes off the ground beneath her feet, as she moved through trees, bushes, and boulders to get back to their worksite. It was all she could do to get away from him before tears filled her eyes and clogged her throat, making it impossible to form a coherent sentence.

“I’ll be down soon. Leave the pack. I’ll bring it when I come.” Jason called after her retreating form. 

“Got it already.” Nicky shouted in the general direction of where they’d been swimming. Her hands shook as she picked-up their things and headed down the hill as fast as she could. They had a therapy session in less than an hour and she needed to get her mind out of Jason Bourne’s bed and back where it belonged. 

“Get a grip, Nicolette,” she mumbled to herself as she headed home. “Get a damn grip.”

It took her ten minutes to unlock the coded entry and put all their tools away. Moments later Nicky stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The shower was running full blast to cover any sounds she inadvertently made. She knew if she was going to keep her sanity and continue to work with Jason she needed to deconstruct the why behind her mixed emotions.

“You love him.” Her lips moved but no sound came out. “I love him,” she whispered. “But I have for years, so how is this different?” her brows quirked as she dug deeper for the answers. Realization struck hard. Her knees gave out and she slipped to the cool tiles and rested her forehead against the marble vanity. Nicky admitted the truth to herself. “I had hoped that sleep in a safe place would cause his memory to return.” Nicky sighed, knowing she still had pieces to put together. “I had hoped that simply being with me would be enough. I hoped he had loved me enough in the past that once he felt secure his feelings would return even if his memories didn’t.” She sobbed, and fought to regain enough clinical detachment to survive emotionally until she’d helped him put the pieces back together. 

She finally knew why she'd been unable to gain closure, despite the years since their affair. Nicky had retained hope that it wasn't over, that as long as Bourne was out there, he might come back to her. But every time he came back she wasn't enough. He'd proved that in Berlin, Spain, and Tangier. She simply wasn't enough for him, maybe she never had been.

 

While Nicky faced her truths, Jason floated in the mountain lake. Though he appeared totally relaxed, the part of him he didn’t want to accept, the part that was Jason Bourne, Treadstone Operative, was aware of every sound, movement, or shadow. He let that man stand watch, while the newer piece of him, the one he was just discovering, searched for answers to questions he hadn’t known existed. The biggest and most important was what was going on between Nick and him.

In the past if there had been a woman he desired and it was convenient, he charmed his way into her bed. Even with Marie, they’d slept together their first night. He hadn’t known whom he was or what was going on, but he had wanted her and she had wanted him in return. It had been simple. Despite the knowledge that he was being hunted, by then unknown forces, they’d indulged their cravings. Their life together had been simple, even when they were dodging operatives, bombs and bullets, up until it had ended while crossing a bridge over the Mandovi River and Marie had been killed.

Life with Nicky was complicated and messy. She was an amazing woman, who stood her ground when needed and gave into him when not. She was smart, beautiful and kind. She made him feel all sorts of crazy things that made no sense. 

The longer he stayed with her the more evidence he uncovered that he’d wanted a life with her and had once been willing to risk a great deal to have it. Jason could understand having an affair with Nicolette Parsons, when she was his handler, even if it was dangerous for both of them, but the paperwork of the escape plan suggested something permanent. If the man he had been loved her, was it possible that these new things he was feeling were based on something much deeper than chemistry and a need to protect. Was the person he’d become, falling in love with her, too?

Before he could even begin to face that question, he needed to know more about himself. He needed his damn memory back.


	7. Forbidden Pleasures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note** : Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story through my years of writers block. I hope the ending lives up to your expectations. It is what was always planned, but then I like to write happy endings.
> 
> The only thing I know about growing olives or being an artist is learned from the internet, so please have patience with my errors. This took longer than I expected after posting the last chapter, but it grew by over 3000 words.
> 
> **Note 2** : _Bourne Legacy_ has a tiny mention toward the end, but no story is planned to follow up on it.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy_  
>  ****
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Watching your eyes_  
_As they invade my soul –_  
_Forbidden pleasures_  
_~~I'm afraid to make mine~~ I am going to make mine._  
Dangerous Game – From Jekyll And Hyde

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night when they met in the living room for their session, Jason began before Nicky sat down.

“You won’t tell me much about your memories of me and I get that. This is a record of what I’ve been able to piece together over the years.” He handed her the journal Marie and he had been keeping. “I need to know if that is who I am....was...what ever.” His words were bitter and sharp.

“Okay.” She sat in her usual chair. A slight frown marred her brow as she gripped the diary. “Why did you wait to show it to me? We’ve been working for weeks.”

“It’s not a lack of trust.” He ran his hand over his face. “I figure you know the worst there to know about me. It feels like I’ve…well…been gone for years and the things in there…the things that Marie and I pieced together from nightmares, intuition, and news stories tell a tale of destruction,” he answered. “I need to know if I killed all those people. That book is the closest thing to a memory I have of that part of my life.”

“All right.” Nicky carefully read through the pages. “You were the agent tasked with these assignments.” She had promised him honesty despite how much it hurt.

“Were there others?” he snapped.

“Only one other, that I know of, a Turkish diplomat,” she whispered, her throat too tight to speak properly. 

“How could you have anything to do with me?” he demanded. “What kind of monster was I...am I?”

“You’re not a monster Jason and you never were. You are only seeing part of the picture. This journal isn’t all that you were and even if it was, you are forgetting that you were acting under a mandate from the United States Government as a duly sanctioned agent. Most people would call you a patriot and many a hero.” She insisted. “You were used a time or two by unscrupulous men, but that was not your fault.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Jason couldn’t believe Nicky was trying to put a positive spin on what they had done in Europe. 

“Sit down and we’ll talk about this.” She took a deep breath and pushed all of her emotions deep inside of her. It was necessary that she be his therapist to get him through this. Any feelings she had for him or about their jobs in Paris would only undermine what she had to say.

He settled in his favorite chair and glared at her. “Don’t you feel any responsibility? From what you’ve said, you handed out kill orders to all of the Treadstone agents.” It was a low blow and he knew it, but he was desperate for answers of any kind.

“We’ll talk about me later.” She promised.

“Today, not some nebulous future,” he demanded.

“Yes, today, but we’re going to cover this first.” She tapped the leather-bound pages in her lap. “That Turkish diplomat I told you about was one of the few I had background information about. He was a spy more that an ambassador. He facilitated weapons deals to extremist groups in Pakistan, Afghanistan and Iran. I’m sure that was why he came to the attention of Treadstone. But he had a darker more despicable business that made my skin crawl. Due to his munitions dealings, he controlled most of the mountain passes in the area. A few times a year, his men would sweep out of their hiding places and raid the villages for preteen children. No one between nine and thirteen was safe. Occasionally a body would be found.” She shook her head not wanting to remember the pictures she’d seen. 

“That bastard needed to be taken out, but how was it my decision, or yours?”

“It wasn’t. The decisions came from the United States Government or what we thought was the government. Despite your training, skill, and cunning, you never harmed anyone unless ordered to or in self-defense.” 

“‘ _I was just following orders’_ is a trite excuse.” He glared at her.

“You are thinking like a civilian.” She smiled gently, unsure if this was progress or not. “We were following orders. I received the assignments and passed them on. You and the others did as you were instructed. We…I did it because I believed I was helping my country. This journal you’ve compiled only lists the deaths, not the reasons behind them. Like the Turkish ‘diplomat’ someone in the CIA made the decision and we carried it out. I realize that private citizens don’t think that way. Following orders is no excuse in their world. Society is supposed to rise above violence, arrest terrorist and let the law take care of it. Civilians are allowed luxuries and choices that the military and government organizations aren’t. To ignore an order can cost lives and we are seldom told why.”

“What kind of person was I that I could do those things?” his voice was filled with pain. 

“An honorable one who did a difficult job because it was necessary. You were no different than a sniper for the Armed Services. You took an order and followed it.”

“Nicky, no.” He pulled the book from her hands and leafed through the pages. “Most of these aren’t clean kills like those guys. Very seldom does it tell of a bullet through the head, or center mass. It paints a picture of car bombings, stabbings, drug overdoses, fires and a strangulation mixed in with an occasional kill shot. There isn’t anything honorable about what I did.”

She was up and out of her chair as he spoke. Moments later she knelt beside him, and reached for his hands. “This is a journal of terrible things. But the way these people died appeared to be accidents, local crime, or carelessness. When we were in Paris, I believed to my core that it was necessary so there was no trail that led to the United States Government. I am a woman who saw, heard, and felt The World Trade Center fall. It still haunts my dreams. I never ever want something like that to happen again, anywhere in the world. I did my job to try and stop terrorism on an international scale. My actions were limited to support staff, but we were a team. Everytime one of you were on assignment, you took a small piece of me with you.” 

He leaned back in his chair studying her expressive face. He analyzed each tone and inflection in her voice as she defended the man represented in his journal. It made him wonder about the woman she'd been at the time. "When I cornered Ward Abbott in Berlin, he accused me of being a killer and nothing else."

"I know, Landy wanted my take on what was said." Nick's voice cracked as she remembered that cold morning in Germany.

"So what was _your take_ on the whole thing? Should I have killed Abbott?" His words were smooth as silk, totally lacking in emotion.

"Oh course you shouldn't have. You did the right thing when you walk out." She was shocked he'd even ask. "Haven't you been listening to what I've been saying? It was never our job to choose the target. We carried out the directive."

His features slowly relaxed as he realized she was speaking the truth and trying to make him see that things were not black or white, but that sometimes people lived in shade of grey. "It is a hard concept to grasp," he muttered. He wasn't ready to accept it yet, but it was an idea to think about.

She blinked tears out of her eyes so they wouldn't fall. It was almost as if he was testing her, but she didn't know why. "The information I learned in Berlin, about the way you and the other Treadstone agents were used, made me question my actions. I had to decide how best to come to terms with the deceit and my part in it. If I was going to move on, and leave it all behind me, I needed to accept the mistakes I may have made."

 

“It’s difficult to do that when everytime I stick my head up for air, someone takes a shot at me.” He glared. “Not exactly the retirement plan the Armed Services have.”

“Secret organizations do like their secrets to be kept. Treadstone, Blackbrier, and any program that may have grown out of those initiatives went too far,” Nicky admitted. “But I think that is only part of the reason they want us both dead. Ward Abbot admitted that he and Conklin used Treadstone operatives for their personal gain. The information you released to Landy was powerful enough to bring down the Director of the CIA, and the head of the CIA’s Deep Cover Anti-Terrorism Bureau. Now the US Senate is using a witch-hunt to try and gain control over the intelligence community. People are terrified of being exposed. I get the feeling we are only the tip of the iceberg.” 

"There has to be more to it than that. Too many people have died."

"Money and power are powerful motivators. They are the reasons innocent men have been sent to war through the ages. But we'll save history and philosophy discussions for another time." She'd broadened Jason's limited horizons on the subjects in Paris. When they weren’t making love or going through practice drills, reading and discussing history and its causes were favorite pastimes. Treadstone had only provided him with the basics. Looking back she wondered if the added knowledge might have caused him to question the way he lived his life. It was one more tiny way she may have damaged the man she loved. "To answer your question, we have knowledge that could destroy careers and send people to jail, if they are allowed to live long enough to even testify." She squeezed his hands and went back to her chair.

“You have knowledge.” He glared at her across from him. “I don’t have any memories, or have you forgotten.” 

“You are living proof of how far some people will go to take control. A lot of that stems from 9/11. After the Twin Towers were destroyed there was panic and finger pointing in positions of power. Things were legally sanctioned and privacy rights were over-looked. In their fear, citizens didn’t seem to care. Treadstone was one of many underfunded projects, with only a few agents that gained from panic caused by an attack on the continental US.

“Now that things are cooling down and the public is demanding that the Government stop surveillance without court orders, pushing for Gitmo to close, and generally taking a closer look into some of the indiscretions that followed the attack on New York City, no one in power wants anymore secrets brought to light. It doesn’t matter if your memory is intact or not and it doesn’t matter that you volunteered. What was done to you and the others was wrong, in a Dr. Mengele kind of way.”

“Did I really volunteer for this crap? Did I know what I was getting into?” He gripped the journal that contained the horrors he’d committed.

“All I have to go on are bits and pieces I learned from Daniels. I was only with him a matter of weeks but he was terrified. He drank too much and when he was drunk seemed to think I knew as much as he did, so he talked.” Nicky believed greed, guilt and fear had driven Neal Daniels. Having her there, a psychologist, and a past member of the same organization had been a source of relief for him. “One of the things he told me was that all of the Treadstone operatives were volunteers. I don’t know if they were briefed on the extent of their mandate, but he stressed that they were carefully screened.”

“Their screening process couldn’t have been that diligent if they had to hire you because sexually abusive agents were leaving bodies scattered across Europe.”

“That’s not the main reason I was recruited, but you are correct, looking back, I don’t think Conklin was as careful about his vetting process as he should have been, but that did not include you.”

“How can you be so sure?” He was beginning to doubt the few things he knew about himself. It was made worse by sporadic nightmares he’d been having. Erotic dreams where Nicky was naked beneath him. Her hands clasping a headboard or her delicate wrists gripped in one of his much stronger hands and pressed into the mattress above her head. Once he had her helpless, he teased her body while she screamed and begged. 

He’d dreamt about her sexually since before he was able to put a name to the blonde woman in his bed, once he knew who she was they had intensified. He wasn’t sure when the occasional dream of dominance slipped in among the other, but it bothered him. He knew that during times of high stress he needed everything under his control. No mater how much relief Jason believed it would have given him, he’d never once attempted it with Marie; instead he spent hours running up and down beaches and over trails.

“There is more to Jason Bourne, than the agent in this book.” She leaned forward and spoke quietly, breaking into his thoughts. “There is the man who came in for his regular check-up at the Safehouse. He broke in once, because I hadn’t unlocked the door. He’d brought breakfast and didn’t want it to get cold. This man allowed me to ask intensely personal questions as part of my job and treated me as a professional.” She bit her lower lip and tried not to let the memories eat her alive. “Then he noticed that I wasn’t really trained to protect myself for the job I was doing. If I’d been working in some CIA office in the states, then maybe, but not…not…oh my God!” Nicky finally zeroed in on the terrible truth, the puzzle that had been slowly drifting together for the last year.

“You saved my life,” she gasped. “Alex Conklin never meant for me to be able to take care of myself. He extracted me from the farm a few weeks into training, saying it would be completed onsite. There was an…ah…issues with his man in Rome. Conklin pulled him out of the field to a safe facility in Paris until he could defuse the situation and had me begin working with him immediately.” 

“When was your training concluded?” He could read the answer in her eyes. Their bosses had left her alone in a foreign country, corralling strong agents, with very little protection.

“There wasn’t much.” She smiled sadly. “I was terribly naive about the whole thing. The Farm had taught me defense skills. But I wasn’t worried because most of my work revolved around my abilities as a psychologist and coming up the learning curve to be creative with computers. You recognized my deficiencies and made sure I survived. We weren’t simply hiding our affair, but everything else too.” Her voice cracked as the full implications of what might have happened hit home.

“It sounds like Conklin and Ward screened their agents to include at least one sexual deviant on purpose.” Jason glared.

“Yeah they did but I knew the issues those men had. It was part of my job to keep them under control, along with everyone else.” A shiver ran up her back and her eyes were huge. “I think they wanted them in the mix so if I became a liability, one of them would be triggered. Either one could have killed me in such a way that it appeared I’d failed at my job.”

“It explains why a small, slim, attractive, young woman was into a position where she was the main contact for a group of psychopaths.” That one ate at him. She could have been brutalized so easily.

“No. Don’t say that. We’ve talked about this before. None of you were psychopaths, though two men came close. The hallmark of that particular mental disorder is senseless violence perpetrated against a random victim for self-gratification. There was nothing senseless or random about any of Treadstone’s assignments and none of you felt self-gratification about your work.” She glared at him, tired and emotionally spent. They’d covered this territory before and she wasn’t up for it tonight.

“How can you be so casual about a plot to rape and kill you?” he demanded, furious at the thought of her being harmed.

“I’m not, but it didn’t happen, those men are dead, and when they were alive, they always treated me with a respect.” She knew just how brutal two of them had been before she'd taken control of the Hub. The possibility of what might have happened made her sick. “When you disappeared, I think that if Conklin hadn’t been killed on the street, the night you came seeking answers, he would have tried to shoot me, once we finished cleaning out the Safehouse. If he’d succeeded, the blame would have fallen on you. He had my weapon, not the one you gave me, but the only one he thought I had. He took it when he went after you.”

“If you were a liability, why weren’t you disposed of instead of simply being reassign? Ward Abbot was still alive.” He was sure she was right, but he needed answers for his own peace of mind.

“Because of you.” She smiled gently because it always seemed to circle back to Jason Bourne. “As long as you were on the run, I might be of some use to them. I’m sure at some point the scales would have tipped. Conklin and by default Abbot knew I had a photographic memory. The longer you were out there, the more dangerous it was for me to live. Then Landy’s men were killed in Berlin and you were framed. They came digging for any information I might have that they missed.”

“I can’t say you’re correct, but from what I’ve learned about these people, you probably are.” He wished he could remember and give her reassurances.

Exhausted she handed back his book. “If I were you, I’d destroy that journal. I realize that it is a connection to Marie, which is important, but it’s a collection of violence. There is so much more to the man you were, otherwise reading it wouldn’t bother you. Learning to accept Jason Bourne the operative and the life he led, may go a long way to helping you remember. I know that sounds backward, and you hate it when I say it, but it is true. I can assure you that other than Marie’s murderer, you’ve only harmed in self-defense. You told them to leave you alone. If they had, you wouldn’t have surfaced again.”

“Well I plan on staying good and hidden this time.” He had his arms folded across his chest and looked deadly serious. “You’re right about the journal, it needs to be burned. It is full of my handwriting, if it were found and seen by the wrong people, it would sign our death warrants.

“It’s been a long day, would you check to be sure we’re set for the night? I’m going to bed.”

“Not a problem. I’ve got something to do, anyway.” He held up the book that told a graphic picture of his past life. “Nicky…” he wasn’t good with words, but knew this needed to be said. “I don’t remember doing it, but I’m glad I recognized your situation and made sure you could take care of yourself.” He tugged gently at a strand of her hair and then wrapped it behind her ear. “I’m glad you are here helping me sort this out.”

“Yeah, me too.” Her mouth went dry, needing to touch him. “It wouldn’t have been a good end,” Nick whispered, unaware she was speaking out loud. 

His dreams…oh God, his dreams… What if they had missed the obvious? “Was I…am I one of those men?” He demanded.

“No, oh no, you weren’t. We had an affair. You never hurt me, ever.” Dark brown eyes challenged blue ones to disagree with her.

“Conklin planned for one of the Treadstone agents to brutalize and kill you.” He caressed her upper arms to transmit his worry without having to admit he dreamed about controlling her body as she was reduced to a puddle of need. “Are you sure they didn’t plant some hidden trigger in me as a back-up plan?”

“If they had, we would have set it off during our time in Paris.” She gripped her hands to keep from touching him in return. She needed to badly, but what she’d learned had unsettled her to the point her composure was almost nonexistent. “You needn’t worry. Everything was consensual.” Her breath rattled as memories assailed her. “We have covered enough territory for tonight.” Her eyes were sad and her features drawn as she quickly left the room, realizing too late she’d revealed more about their sexual relationship than was wise.  
****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night after Nicky went to bed, Jason built a small fire in the living room fireplace. He slowly and meticulously took apart his journal and assigned every page to the flames. When the ashes were cooling, he put on gloves and scrubbed the leather binding with bleach to remove any DNA. Once that chore was completed he cleaned out the hearth and buried the ashes and cover in the compost bin next to the mountain trail. It would take months to decompose, but then there would be nothing left.

It was after he was in bed, listening to the quiet breath sounds of Nicky pretending to sleep that he realized she hadn’t wanted him to explain his fears of being one of those men, one of the ones that might have been chosen to harm her. It was out of character for her; especially when she felt it necessary to add that their actions in bed were consensual. It made a man wonder…and his groin tighten.  
****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day they drove down the twisting hill to Positano’s bustling business section. They had a shopping list and planned to explore the town. They were both tired. Neither of them had slept well the night before, but both were avoiding talking about it.

Jason stopped at the Internet café and spent time catching up on international news, while Nicky went to her favorite vegetable and fruit vendor. He read with interest that another covert black ops program was exposed to the press. The shit was really hitting the fan this time, due to the killing of five American research scientists on U.S. soil. Cleaning up after Outcome should keep them busy for a while, but Jason decided he and Nicky would be wise to add thermal imaging cameras to their security net. 

They met up for a late lunch, careful to hold hands as they walked together. 

Instead of exploring as they’d planned, Nicky suggested that she go off in one direction and he try to find her, an Italian version of their game from Paris. It turned out more challenging for her than she had expected.

While they were eating, a cruise ship arrived in port. Hundreds of tourists were tendered ashore to enjoy a few hours in Positano. The town was filled with noisy, excited vacationers. Nick had problems focusing on what she was doing, as hoards of people clogged the small steep streets. Jason found her shaken and pale an hour later. He put his arm around her and she curled against his side, as they made their last stop at the butcher before heading to the car where all their previous purchases were stored. 

That night Nicky had her first nightmare since they’d moved upstairs. Jason woke to her thrashing and an almost silent moan. At the distinctive sound of the clip popping into her Glock Compact he leapt across the room.

“Nick,” he called out as he tumbled her half-kneeling form across her mattress. Both hands gripped her wrists and his body covered hers, pinning her with his weight.

“Noooo!” she screamed and tried to wiggle out from under him. “Let me go.”

“Nicky, wake-up. It’s Jason. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you, but you have to let go of your weapon.” He emphasized his words by holding her right wrist more securely against the mattress. “Come on Babe, let it go.”

Her eyes were finally open and she was fighting to breathe. “Ja…Ja…Jason,” she cried out his name and loosened her fingers around the grip of her pistol, letting it slip out of her hand. “Oh, God, I…wa…would…have shot you…you…” she cried. Her whole body shook and she pulled her arms free to wrap them around his neck. Every inch of her pressed against him and it felt like coming home after being away for a very long time.

He shifted so he could pickup her Glock, place it out of her reach and still remain holding her. She was small and slim and it was so familiar to have her in his arms like that. “Easy does it.” He curled her against him encouraging her to calm down. “Take deep breaths.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice trembled and her body shook. Nicky’s face was buried against his neck and chest seeking comfort that she knew could send her emotions into a tailspin once she was thinking clearly. But for now they lay on their sides tangled together and for just a short time she would allow herself to pretend.

“It’s okay. You had a nightmare.” His hands seemed to know exactly where to touch her to give her comfort. The soft cotton of her sleep tank made his palms itch to wander further. He only had dreams of exploring her body, but was sure he knew exactly what her silken skin and gentle curves felt like beneath the fabric of her clothes.

“I almost shot you.” She whispered. Her warm breath caressed his ear, but she was too lost in panic to realize what she was doing to him. 

“Look at me,” he demanded. Jason cupped her cheek and raised her face to his. Her scent made forgotten memories echo and disappear in his mind so fast he was blinded by pinpricks of white light. In that moment he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the woman in his arms had belonged to him in a forgotten past and he ached to have that part of his life back. “Nicolette, I’ve got you.” Old words of reassurance slipped easily from his lips. His hands tightened against her as he fought the overwhelming need to role her beneath him and discover if his dreams were true. Did he really know all her sensitive places? Could his touch make her cry out his name in pleasure and cause her to beg for more? 

Jason squeezed his lids closed until the blinding fireworks of want, half-remembered dreams, and growling desire faded. Now was not the time.

“I’m so s-sorry.”

“Not your fault. Just a normal reaction.” His words were husky, but he forged ahead, making his muscles relax until he was holding her gently. “Tomorrow night it could just as easily be me pointing a weapon at you.” He was very glad they had decided to keep the clips out of their side arms, when they’d moved upstairs. He favored a Glock, but it had a passive safety, pulling the trigger released it. If the sound of her sliding the magazine home hadn’t woken him, she might have shot him.

“I should move downstairs, put some distance between us.” Nick chewed on her lower lip, aware there wasn’t a part of her body that wasn’t pressed against his. 

“We can work this out.” He carefully slid one hand to her shoulder and the other to her cheek as much to keep her with him as to allow some space. “We discussed the possibility the night I arrived? ‘Look before you shoot’ is kinda hard with your eyes closed in sleep.” Jason felt her nod her head at the memory. Small strands of hair caught in the stubbles on his chin and her damp cheek moved against his palm. “We’re both sleeping better and the nightmares are a fraction of what they were.” He knew the improvement in his rest was a mix of things, the crazy desire that made him brush against her every chance he got, the way listening to her breathe at night filled him with feelings of home, and just her, knowing that she was there, sharing the darkness. “Would you feel safe if we kept our weapons by the windows instead of under out pillows? We would have to get up to reach them, but they would be close enough if we were under attack. A few feet away should prevent a repeat of tonight.”

“The security system has been complete for a while now. We’d know if someone broke into the house and we put in enough sensors that alarms go off if anyone is twenty meters from the garden walls.” She was talking to herself; more than Jason, stating logical, practical reasons, instead of the emotional one that shouted don’t let me leave. Finally, Nicky’s chin rose in defiance, her decision made: she would stay with him as long as he would have her.

“I’m surprised this is the first time we’ve had this problem.” He picked her up and sat her on the edge of her mattress a few inches from his side. He immediately missed her warmth, but knew holding her longer than necessary would only take them down a path they’d left behind in the spring. “It’s almost a relief to get it out of the way.”

“As long as you’re safe from me.” She shivered slightly at the thought of harming him.

“Babe, I appreciate the concern.” The endearment slipped out unintended and neither seemed to be aware of it. “I don’t mean to undermine your skills, but I still coulda taken you down.” He grinned at the indignant expression on her face.

“Hmmm,” she rubbed her brow in defeat. “Then in that case, maybe you should leave your weapon downstairs.”

“Thing is, I am the weapon.” He hoped teasing with a bit of the truth wouldn’t upset her more.

“But not to me,” she whispered tiredly as she moved to the windows. Jason wasn’t sure if he was supposed to have heard, so he sat and watched her. She popped the clip of her Glock Compact and checked to be sure the chamber was empty. When she was sure it was secured, she left it with her go-bag five feet from her mattress. Everything was handy in case they had to run in the night.

“I need to know that you’re safe.” She moved slowly to her bedding and straightened the linen. Refusing to contemplate a future without Jason alive and well. 

“Nick,” Bourne sighed searching for the right words while he put his side arm under the window at the other end of the room where his escape gear was stashed. “I…” He knew what he wanted to say, but it was too much, too soon. Instead he muttered, “I don’t want to hurt you either.” It was the truth and far better for the time being.

They settled on their respective mattresses, each missing the other, but neither willing to say the words that would bring their careful peace crashing down around them.

“Would it help to talk about your nightmare?” Jason knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon and the reason was the small blonde woman five feet away.

“I…uh…it was a mix of things,” she sighed. Nicky grabbed her pillow, and moved it to the foot of her bed before lying on her stomach with her chin resting on crossed arms. She hoped if she tried hard enough she could convince herself that this was just another teenage sleepover with her best friend Rachel Young and that her body didn’t yearn for the man who no longer remembered they had belonged to one another. 

“I’m listening if you think it will help to talk about it.” Jason mirrored her pose. There ware only three feet of flooring separating them as they talked.

“It was like Tangier and the first time we played escape and evade in Paris, along with the nightmare that finally drove me from Rome.” She drew patterns with the index finger of her right hand on the hardwood floor in the area where her mattress ended and his began.

“What do you mean?” He gripped her hand with his to stop her nervous movements.

“You remember the operative chasing me through the back alleys in Tangier?” She started with the newest event. Almost sure he remembered, but given the state of his memory she never took anything for granted.

“That was kind of hard to forget.” He squeezed her hand in conformation.

“I think tonight’s episode was triggered by our trip to Positano. It was too much like Africa. We need to learn the town, but I’m going to have to take it slower. I know we cover more territory when we work separately, but could you… would you be willing to explore together? Once I get it locked in my mind, I’ll be fine. It is something I need to do. The huge crowds that were there today are good to hide in, but they clog all the streets.” She shivered.

“Of course.” He’d been surprised when she suggested they split up. They didn’t know the area well enough yet, but there was also the need to be able to get lost in strange places. “I’m glad to help you and it will make our cover more secure. We are supposed to be a couple.”

“Yeah, there is that.” It had been the main reason she’d wanted to separate. She wasn’t sure if she could play his lover when she wasn’t, but wanted desperately to be. 

“What does that have to do with Paris and a dream in Rome?” Jason wanted to understand how she thought. He was feeling so many things for her and knew desire was only part of it. He wasn’t the Jason who had been her lover, but he wasn’t the one who had shown up at her door furious, positive she had deceived him.

“When we were in Paris and you’d been on a mission, you didn’t trust yourself to...well spend time with me as other than a profess---”

“Date you?” he cut in. “Make love to you? I didn’t trust myself with you in an intimate situation.”

“Yeah...that.” She stumbled over her words and went on. “The first time you returned after we’d become lovers things were…. awkward.” She chose her words carefully hoping he wouldn’t ask further questions.

“Did I hurt you?” The journal he’d burned the day before painted a graphic picture of his abilities. Her comment added credibility to his dreams and a new meaning to her assurance that their sex life had been consensual. 

“No you did not. How many times do I have to tell you that?” She glared into the darkness. “That first game of hide and seek was a little scary. I didn’t understand what you were doing and that you weren’t yourself. You’d just returned to Paris and you were driven.” She stumbled over the memory of their lost past. In the Now, he was close, touching her hand. There was the crinkle of sheets beneath her body when she moved and the sound of his voice speaking softly to her in the dark. If she closed her eyes she could imagine they were in another time and place, but that was all it would be, a fantasy of what had been. “Anyway, it caught me off guard.” That was all that she wanted to tell him about that night. Though it was the emotions of their argument followed by frantic almost feral sex that she was sure was the basis of the dream now and the one she’d had in Rome. “When I have that dream since Tangier, you and that operative change back and forth. One second it was you and I was safe, the next it was him and I was running for my life until you finally catch me.” She whispered the last few words carefully editing the ending of the dream.

“What aren’t you telling me?” He gripped her hand and pulled her toward him. “What did I do to you that night in Paris that you aren’t telling me about?”

“You didn’t do anything.” She insisted. “My memories won’t do you any good. You need to have your own, not my interpretation of them. Besides, this is just a mixed up PTSD dream of mine, not yours.”

“I’m not asking about me. It’s you I’m worried about.” He turned things around demanding she dig through what was hurting her. “Talk to me Nick.”

She stared at his dark outline against the lighter stones of the fireplace, knowing he was correct. “I…all right, but part of it is about you,” she sighed. She told him about that night in the backstreets of Paris, but left out the intimate details in his apartment. “You were determined that the only way to keep me safe was to chase me through the alleys and shortcuts among buildings. I think you wanted me to be frightened so I’d take things seriously, or you were trying to scare me away from involvement with you, I don’t know…Afterward we had a heated argument. As I said, you weren’t yourself. Later you told me it was because it was too soon after your assignment. Our game of you being a hunter had become too real and you didn’t trust yourself. After that we always waited longer to get together when you returned from business.”

“You’re not telling me all of it.” He’d heard her voice tremble with passion as she’d spoken. They had made love that night and he doubted he’d been careful with her. He knew what his body craved when he was being driven by stress. Though he had no memory of enjoying a woman like that, just his frantic dreams of Nicky Parsons.

She pulled away from him and sat back on her knees in the middle of her bed. “I only have one other thing to say about that night. I had a Masters in psychology and had almost completed my PhD. I should have known that it was too soon, but guess what? I had never been in that situation before and neither had you. It only took one time for us to learn that you had problems reintegrating with a lover. After that we avoided it, though I am confident that we could have worked it through. After all, that was part of my responsibility in Paris, but you refused to take the chances.”

“I wasn’t gentle with you.” He insisted. Afraid his nightmares were a mixture of dreams and memories.

“Oh stop it! I am a consenting adult and no shrinking violet who would let a man take more than I am willing to give. You.Never.Hurt.Me.” She shook her head exasperated. “I’m tired and I’m through having this discussion.” She flopped back onto her bed and turned away from him.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Summer was a warm golden time. Nicky and Jason slowly mastered Positano. Despite the tourists and Nick’s claustrophobia, they liked the unique town. 

As the days progressed, they learned all of the trails for miles in any direction. They discovered any nook or cranny that could provide cover in a chase and even stocked some of them with non-perishable provisions. 

Any likely looking hidey-hole with a view of their plateau was marked on a map and sensors hidden among the undergrowth and rocks. Once they felt comfortable among the crowds of tourists, every shopping trip to town became of a game of hide-and-seek or a scavenger hunt, until they knew every corner, turn, mean dog and dead-end Positano had to offer. 

With a map imprinted in her memory, Nicky’s movement through town appeared to be just like anyone else’s. But if the hoards of shoppers were particularly rambunctious, her claustrophobia would flare. On those days she’d hold tight to Jason’s hand until her breathing was under control. A quick smile to let him know she was fine and they would continue as if nothing had happened. 

By late July they had mapped, explored, and laid sensors to the point it would be suspicious to keep covering the same ground over and over again. Instead they went fishing and swimming in the mountain lakes and streams.

At least once a week they took a picnic dinner to the high peek above the cottage to eat and stargaze late into the night. They lay side-by-side on a blanket and learned all the constellations. Nicky used the excuse that it was so they could navigate through the mountains by starlight if need be, but Jason simply laughed pointing to the compasses they always carried and enjoyed the nighttime sky. One night they were treated to a meteor shower.

Much to Bourne’s surprise he discovered Nicky and he shared the same dry sense of humor. Unlike Marie who had rolled her eyes and smiled politely at his puns and wordplay, Nick understood and often encouraged his moments of fun.

Occasionally Jason would join one of village fishermen and go out for the day. He enjoyed his time on the water and was glad to lend a helping hand where needed. He never accepted money for his efforts but always came home with fresh fish for their dinner table. 

On the days he was gone, Nicky would set up her easel and spend the time lost in painting. She usually went to their room. The light was excellent and they’d installed one way netting that made it impossible for anyone to see in, but she had a clear view out. The one time she’d tried working on their cliff, the itch between her shoulder blades was too distracting. She found it frustrating that she was bothered by both claustrophobia and wide-open spaces. It just didn’t seem fair.

From her secure perch in the Gatekeeper’s Lodge, she liked to capture the rooftops of Positano on canvas. They formed steep terraces on the craggy cliff heading toward the ever-changing blue water below. The work she was doing helped her stay centered while Jason was enjoying his time on the sea. Comparing the progress she was making and improvement in her technique brought her a sense of deep personal satisfaction. 

Every evening they discarded their new lives. She became a therapist and he the man with a fractured memory. They sat in their living room and tried to piece together Bourne’s past.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Fall 2008_

Nicky had been correct. The brutal exercise routine that both had independently adopted had been overkill. It had kept them fit, but so finely honed that it had been impossible to relax. Now, they were as strong and fast as ever, with an increase in mental acuity. After countless drills, they could be out of the house and away by multiple routes in a matter of seconds.

September was olive time. Count Dinapoli, his son’s and workers came together to bring in the harvest along with Jason Weston and Colette Benoit. The timing was critical. The fruit needed to be ripe, but not so much so that it would produce poor quality oil. The group started on the exposed plateau and moved inward to the Count’s trees. It was hard work, interspersed with laughter, jokes, songs in Italian, and wonderful food and wine.

The nights became slightly longer and cooler as late September slipped into October and everyone recuperated from long hours spent climbing ladders and handpicking olives.

The two people hidden in the Gatekeeper’s Lodge were eating and sleeping better, especially after all the hard work. Occasionally, one or the other would have a nightmare, but it would be short lived and easily dealt with. They were still sharing the large top floor room and neither wanted to think about what would happen when that changed. 

 

Life was good. They trusted their surroundings and each other, and were slowly being accepted into a small group of locals, but despite all their months of work, Jason’s memory was as damaged as it had been on his arrival.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Nicky felt she had failed him once again. “We aren’t any further along than we were months ago. I think we are dealing with more than one kind of amnesia.”

“Can you be more specific?” He steepled his fingers, unsure where she was going with this. 

“There was the original damage done by the drugs you were given and sensory deprivation during Treadstone training. It wiped your past clean so Conklin and Abbott, with the help of Dr. Albert Hirsch, were able to build a new personality. After Wombosi, you forgot any sense of self you’d been allowed to retain, or had created on your own. You didn’t even recognize your reflection in a mirror. That is the hallmark of selective hysterical amnesia, but it’s usually short lived. Yours has gone on for years, with old memories occasionally leaking through. 

“Given the scars on your scalp I believe you also have some combination of dissociative and traumatic amnesia. Both kinds have complete loss of anything that happened before the trauma, but the patient has no problems making new memories. Traumatic usually doesn’t last long, but has been known to linger. Dissociative explains the gaps but is a harder one to pin down. It is obvious that you can change short-term memory into long on most subjects, but not on others. When Marie was killed you went from being the hunted to the hunter. It was almost as if you were reclaiming part of the man you were in Paris. As much as you hated everything you believed Bourne stood for, you needed his skills to stay alive.”

"Waking up to him was no picnic." He grunted. "One minute I'm just this guy with no idea of who or where I am. The next thing I know I’m a fighting machine, driving like a mad man, and using weapons I only vaguely recognize, but handled with deadly accuracy."

"It couldn't have been easy, but that only adds to the problem.” They had touched on this subject before and he didn't like it, but she knew they needed to take it more seriously. “I don't think you want to remember Jason Bourne and that is adding emotional pressure to any physical aspects of your memory loss." 

“That’s ridiculous. I know what kind of man Bourne was. He killed for a living. I can’t very well hide that from myself when I’ve seen the articles and read the reports.” His temper was unraveling and he knew that wouldn’t help. “You verified every kill in my journal. That man is hard to miss.”

“Jason, there is a difference between knowing something intellectually and accepting it emotionally. That’s what you are fighting.”

“No, no, I don’t believe it,” he argued.

“And that is adding to the problem. You won’t even try.” It was Nicky’s turn to pace the living room, something she didn’t do during these sessions. “We never really learned why your memory shattered. What I’ve told you is only my best understanding, based on what I know about you, your head injuries, and my working experience.”

He could see there was something that worried her terribly. “There’s more. I can see it in your face.”

“Yes.” She sighed and stood dejectedly in front of him. “I can’t promise that you will ever get back the missing years.”

“This could be it then?” He reared back in surprise. He’d been so sure they were making progress. His life had never been better, but he wanted it all, including knowledge of his past. He needed to remember so he didn’t trip over his past and get Nicky killed.

“I’m sorry.” She knelt beside his chair. Her eyes were glassy from fighting tears. “A recent MRI or even some blood work might give us more answers. A scan is out of the question. It would be like lighting the Batlight in the sky, telling anyone who looking for you exactly where we are. I’m too afraid to leave a blood specimen anywhere. I don’t know if the CIA has your DNA." The more she talked the quicker the words tumbled out. "I’m certain they have mine from my apartment in Spain. I helped clean out your place in Paris but I wasn’t alone. I didn’t see…I wasn’t…my focus…” She was shaking at the memory of going through his personal things and trying to look as if it was nothing more than business. "I'm sorry. I should have been more careful, but you were missing, a Treadstone agent was dead on the street outside your window...and your landlady had been killed.” She wiped away a tear she couldn’t contain. “I had to keep quiet and under control when all I wanted was to…”

“Easy Babe.” He put his arms around her, holding her close. “It’s all right. We have to assume that they have DNA samples from both of us.” He cupped her cheeks and used his thumbs to wipe the tears off her face. “So bottom line, things may never get any better in my scrambled head? Can it get worse?”

“Without knowing the underlying cause of the loss, I can only guess. Your memory has been stable since climbing out of The East River all those months ago, I doubt there will be any new problems as long as there are no new traumas. ” She smiled gently and pulled back to sit on the floor looking up at him. “My advice is to get plenty of rest, stay out of high stress situations, avoid using your head as a battering ram, and learn to accept the man you were, when stationed in Paris. Denying him is denying part of your life and it is the only avenue left open to us at this point.”

“Will that give me back my memory?”

“I don’t know, but it can’t hurt. Start by working on letting your mind accept that you were following orders from a superior officer. It may take time, but it would free you from the mountain of guilt you’ve been carrying since you learned about Treadstone.” She smiled gently. “That’s what I believe about the orders I passed along. It is what allows me to sleep at night. When I went to work for the CIA I realized that some of the things I might be asked to do would appear to be morally ambiguous if look at by the man on the street. But I wanted to protect that man who might judge me harshly.”

He looked her in the eyes, unsure what to say or do. 

She could read pain in his expression. “I understand why it is more difficult for you. Our jobs were very different.” It was harder for him because he’d physically ended lives and she’d only passed on the orders to do so. Though in reality, they were equally to blame, his actions were more personal.

“You’re probably the only other person who ever has.” He leaned forward to reach for her hand. “It means a lot to me.” There was sorrow written all over his face.

"I blame that damn journal you kept. All it showed was violence." Nicky finally lost her temper. "There is this guy, Jason Weston. He has spent the last two and a-half weeks on S. Martini's fishing boat, helping him bring in his catch, because the fisherman's gout was so bad he could hardly walk. Never mind that the young man was tired from the repetitive motions and long days harvesting olives most of the month before. He saw a need and was willing to help. The only reason this Jason accepted a few Euros a day for his work was so the old man's pride wasn't hurt. Well, he used to live in Paris under a slightly different name. He is a gentle kind person who…who." She could feel her emotional control beginning to break, so she quit while she still had her pride. "I could go on, but since I can't provide any of it with news reports or clippings, you won’t believe me." Nick threw her arms in the air and headed upstairs to bed.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason sat in her rocker. The house was locked tight with no lights on. He knew she was right. He'd been carrying around guilt for years. It was made worse because he was a hypocrite. As much as he'd condemned the information he'd discovered about his Treadstone self, he'd made good use of every skill they had taught him for his personal need. Between self-defense and revenge he'd amassed a sizable body count. He understood his nature well enough to know that he'd never simply give up, but there had to be a happy medium.

This summer had been the best he could remember. For a short time he'd stopped running and hiding. They'd been cautious, carefully securing their home and adding depth to their covers simply by existing as flesh and blood version of their paper trail. Though he’d been nervous at first, their neighbors had slowly accepted them. He gave Nicky most of the credit for that. She began sowing tiny seeds of friendship with the Dinapoli household as soon as she felt safe in Positano, about the time he had agreed to stay to work on his memory.

The time had flown by. They were a succession of warm days and nights full of hard work mixed with fun, and laughter. Through it all, Nicky Parsons was at his side. He knew he cared for the small slim blonde in more ways than were wise. At one time a simple affair would have been easy, but at this point he wasn’t willing to settle for so little.

Everytime he tried to think about more, he bumped against his amnesia. He had to face the fact that this may be it. But one way or the other, there was something he needed to do before he could explore the possibility of a life with her and he was almost out of time.

It was necessary to end one life before he could think of starting a new one.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nicky woke unusually early to the smell of fresh coffee. Jason’s go-bag was missing and so was he. She bounded out of bed, determined to find him.

She arrived in the kitchen moments later. One look at the way he was dressed with his filled pack next to the table confirmed her worst fears. “You’re leaving.”

“Yes.” He depressed the plunger on the French press before he looked up. His expression was blank, his tone unwavering. “I promised I wouldn’t just disappear.”

She froze halfway to the counter. She’d been here before. They’d done this in the past, except it had been in Paris and he was going on his last mission.

“Take me with you.” The words slipped out before she could stop them and she was glad. 

“I can’t.” He came around to her side and held her gently by the shoulders. “I’ve got something I need to do before I can attempt to leave Operative Jason Bourne behind. I’ll move faster and it will be safer if I do it alone.”

“Who are you hunting this time?” She wrapped her arms around her body to keep from trembling. Since Paris, she hadn’t been what he wanted. He was always bent on revenge and each kill only did more damage to him.

“No one, or maybe me, you know that other Bourne you’re always talking about.” Damn he wanted to kiss her, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it back, so he didn’t.

“What will you do when you find him?” She’d never seen the slightest indications of suicidal tendencies in all the years she’d been his therapist, but the way he was talking frightened her.

“Not sure.” He grinned and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe buy him a beer.” 

“Are you coming back?” Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away. 

“I don’t know if can. I won’t take any chance of leading anyone here.” His mouth was set in a straight line that added years to his face. 

"I love you," she whispered. She'd always regretted not saying it that last morning in Paris and she loved him so much more now. She was going to be damn sure he knew. 

“Nick,” Jason’s voice was hoarse, like ground glass and for one second his face showed everything he was feeling. For one second Nicky was sure he would say it too. Instead he wrapped his right hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close. His mouth buried in her thick hair

“Jason,” she breathed his name, gripped the front of his shirt and fought tears. She’d promised him she wouldn’t cry, but it was so damn hard when she was surrounded by his familiar scent for possibly the last time. For one tiny instant she flashed back to when he pulled her against him when they were under Alexanderplatz Station in Berlin.

“Stay safe,” he whispered. His lips moved through her hair in an almost kiss. Jason was trying to imprint the memory of her in his arms, so if the worst happened, he would never forget her again. He pulled away, grabbed his pack and was out the door.

“Oh God,” Nick cried out and lowered herself to the floor. It was Alexanderplatz Station without the shouting, but instead of being a new beginning, it was the end. She let go and cried. There was no one to see or hear her. It didn’t matter anymore. She’d kept her promise, just as he’d kept his.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_November 2008_

Jason Bourne had taken three weeks to get to the town of Panaji located in the State of Goa, India. It was a little over a year, since Marie had been killed by a bullet meant for him. She’d been driving so their car had run off a bridge into the Mandovi River.

He knew he was taking a chance coming back here, especially so close to the anniversary of her death, but it was something he had to do. He’d spent the summer trying to get his memory back to no avail. If he was going to move on with his life, he had to let go of the past. 

Bourne spent a week watching the bungalow where he’d lived, the small section of town and the bridge. There was nothing out of the ordinary, no one appeared suspicious and no one looked at him twice. He was dressed as a tourist. In khakis, t-shirt, sunglasses and baseball cap. He carried a camera. It looked like he was taking pictures, but he was really using the long lens in place of his usual spotter scope to check the market and along the river.

On his last night, under cover of a moonless sky, he slipped into the yard of the tiny house where he’d lived and picked some of the strange yellow flowers that had been Marie’s favorites. The town slept on as late night became very early morning. He made his way to the underside of the bridge.

Jason tossed the flowers into the water, one-by-one, and watched as the current caught them. “Thank you,” he whispered. He didn’t looked away until the last bright colored bloom was carried out of sight in the dark. 

Not moving from the rocky shore, Bourne pulled a small burner cell out of his pocket and called a number he’d used it for only once.

“Hello,” Pam Landy answered with trepidation. She’d kept the burner Jason had planted on her, as he swept past, that grey dismal morning when her men were still combing the East River for his body. But she never expected to hear from him again.

“You can throw away the phone, Pam, there won’t be anymore calls. Leave me alone, and I’ll never bother anyone again.” As he flipped the lid closed he could hear her calling his name. Moments later he cracked the small cell against a metal strut of the bridge. He crushed the memory chip beneath his boot and threw the smashed and broken bits into the river to disappear forever. Bourne climbed the bank and slipped away from the sleeping town undercover of darkness.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_November 2008 – Langley, Va._

The first thing Landy did when the phone rang was to discretely look out her windows. When she didn’t see Bourne staring back at her from any of neighboring roofs or black-coated figure walking quickly away, she checked the time. It was 4 PM in Langley.

She had inserted a tracker in the burner almost a year ago; once activated she looked for any breadcrumbs he might have left. Bourne had a habit of sending hidden messages and Pam was going to find it if it was there. She grinned with success when she discovered he hadn't disabled his GPS. It allowed her to trace the call to a main cell tower in India, but no further. 

He had called her at approximately 1:30 AM his time, nothing significant about that. The pieces fell together when she double-checked the date and compared it to her report from a year ago. He'd wanted her to know his general location. It was a subtle reminder of why his demand should be taken seriously.

Pam had a meeting with her immediate superior, CIA Director Charles Jennenings, in twenty minutes. That gave her time to pull further background information.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Jennenings was still Acting Director, he'd moved the CIA's Deep Cover Anti-Terrorism Bureau from New York to Langley where he could keep closer tabs on it. The A.D.’s next step was to appoint Pamela Landy as Senior Agent In Charge, when Noah Vosen was placed on investigative leave and consequently arrested.

Landy and Jennenings sat in comfortable chairs around a small worktable in his office. Her department had been in shambles when she took over. It was an embarrassment to the Agency and the government. She and her boss had worked diligently to untangle the mess they'd inherited from Vosen and past director Ezra Kramer.

“Looks like you’re making good progress.” Jennenings was pleased with the way things were improving. 

“Thank-you. I have one other item and it’s not on the agenda.” She placed the burner cell between them. “Jason Bourne called me today.” 

"You’re sure it was Bourne?" Jennenings asked. 

"Yes, Sir, I know his voice.” She confirmed.

“These special ops guys are going to give me an ulcer.” He was glad the man was still alive, but the idea of another renegade agent resurfacing so soon after Aaron Cross and Marta Shearing, was the last thing he wanted to hear. He could see the headlines now. “What did he have to say?” 

“He wants us to leave him alone.” Landy pulled out her tablet and sat it on the table between them, while she repeated exactly what had happened and been said when that phone rang. “You can hardly blame him after everything that happened. He’s no different than Aaron Cross.”

“In theory,” he sighed. "Where is he?"

“I’m not sure, it’s been over an hour since he made contact and he’s a master at disappearing. I traced the call to somewhere in India, which isn’t surprising considering that’s where it started for him a year ago.”

“Is he out for blood, again?” The Director looked at Pamela over his reading glasses. She was the closest thing he had to an expert on the man.

“No. I think he meant what he said. He wants out, off the grid. If Ward Abbot and his cronies hadn't farmed him in Berlin, none of that mess would have happened in New York. I believe he let us trace his call to remind us what happens when we screw with him.” Pam lightly touched the keyboard of her tablet, entering a code. An icon for locked and encrypted document appeared on her screen. Another password and a personnel file appeared followed by the report Landy had written in January that officially ended the CIA’s search for their missing agent. “This is every piece of evidence I have on Jason Bourne.” She handed the iPad to her boss.

"The boy is damn good at making a point." He huffed, tallying last year's body count in his head as he moved through the screens. "If we're wrong we could have another disaster on our hands. That doesn't even count public relations. I want to be prepared for whatever he is planning." The press and social media were just starting to calm down after the frenzy caused by Aaron Cross and Dr. Marta Shearing, walking into the Senate hearings with concrete proof of the atrocities committed by Eric Byer.

“If he were out to get us, bodies would have been dropping long before this and there wouldn’t have been a courtesy call.” Landy advised. 

“We don’t know if we’ve found them all,” Jennenings wasn’t as trusting. He didn’t like uncertainty and this case reeked of it from the beginning. “What about the other agent? The female who is still missing? She was his handler-psychologist, Parsons? Is she hiding or do you think she became a causality when Bourne ripped apart Treadstone?”

“I…ah…” She shook her head. “I don’t believe she is dead. He wouldn’t kill her.”

“I need to be read-in on anything you’ve got on the man.” The Director leaned back in his chair and watched the woman across from him. Pam Landy was hiding something.

"Sir, there’s no proof on any of this." A female in a male dominated profession didn’t have it easy. The last thing she wanted was for her boss to accuse her of using 'woman's intuition' and that wasn’t what this was. 

"Just spit it out."

She took a moment to gather her thoughts. There were too many ideas flying around and they needed to be presented in the right order. "Nicky Parsons is the only person connected with Treadstone who has had contact with Bourne, since the Wombosi mission went south, and lived to tell about it. There were three times that I know of, when he has shown up out of nowhere, and gone directly for her.”

“Sounds damn factual to me. What’s your conclusion?” There was something about what he’d just been told that made him uncomfortable.

“That part is fact, though it is scatter through a number of different reports. Here is where it gets murky.” Pam continued. “I keep asking myself why? Why didn’t he kill her when he confronted Conklin? She was there. Why not in Berlin? He was angry enough. I heard part of their conversation before her wire went dead. Why not in Spain, or even let Desh do his dirty work for him in Africa?” 

“You’ve got a theory. I can tell.” The Director rested his chin in his fisted-hand and put his elbow on the arm of his chair. He was sure he wasn’t going to like this.

“All I can come up with is that he was looking for her from the start, but with amnesia he didn’t recognize her.” There, she’d said it and sat back and waited for the explosion.

“Are you saying they were involved in Paris? I find that hard to believe. Jason Bourne killed unflinchingly for years. He’s got to be one cold bastard. It was the hallmark of Treadstone operatives.” None of what Landy said made any sense to him.

“I agree, for the most part.” She leaned forward in her chair, not at all convinced she wasn’t about to talk her way out of a job. “But something changed Treadstone’s number one asset and I’d lay odds it happened before he went on that last mission. Hell, it was why the mission failed.” 

“If he hadn’t left a string of bodies from Germany to Russia, to New York, after Kreutz was shot, I’d think he just burned out. It happens. Sane men can only go so far and then they snap.” Jennenings knew because he’d been there. He’d been a SEAL sniper. Just thinking about that time in his life made him tired. “But you think it might have been the girl? Somehow, because of her, he grew a conscious?”

“All I really know is that he keeps circling back to Parsons. Jason protects those who help him. He did his damnedest with Kreutz and when he failed, he went gunning for anyone who had anything to do with Treadstone, except Nicky.” Pamela shrugged, unsure what else she could say.

“For us, the big question is how much trouble is this going to cause?” The Director swiped through his information on Bourne. “I agree with your assessment that he isn’t hunting us anymore, but can he hurt us another way?” He knew the answers to his questions but Pam was a good sounding board where Bourne was concerned.

“The Senate hearings were closed, so they kept most of the detailed files from Albert Hirsch’s computer, outlining Treadstone training and initiation from public scrutiny, but Vosen let bits and pieces leak to make Jason sound mentally incompetent.” Landy was angry with the tactics that had been used to try and justify issuing standing kill orders on the two agents who had escaped an assassin in Tangier. “Because of that and the instability of his memory over the years the man is not a credible witness. Unlike Marta or Aaron were."

“If his testimony was corroborated by Parsons it could be damning.” The Director scanned through Nicky’s file. He stopped and scrolled over the previous section, reading through it again. “Well at one time it stated she had a photographic memory. With that and her professional credentials she’d be damn credible.” He glared at Landy’s tablet. Something was wrong with the source document. There had been changes made to these reports since he'd read them as Acting Director.

Jennenings flipped between two personnel files on the screen, stopping and scroll back to reread sections “Well shit. I'm guessing these have been tampered with to the point of being useless. That sort of thing was right up Ezra Kramer's alley. It was discovered he made changes to records and case reports when it was to his benefit. It must have been a last ditch effort to cover his butt. He hadn’t been able to kill his renegade, so he made it harder to find him. One less witness."

"It could be simpler than that.” Landy took a deep breath, and ignored the voice inside her that was relieved because she was sure they were together, safe and in hiding. “Nicky Parsons has the computer skills to slip through firewalls and bypass our security. We taught her how. At one time she had passcodes and clearance, that with a little creative finagling, allowed her get in even farther. I saw her in action when they were in Tangier. She was changing Vosen's orders and giving false reports from her laptop. She made it appear like the information was coming from the North Africa local." Pam gazed at the picture of the unassuming woman with long blonde hair. “It could have been done at the spur of the moment, but if the changes are as vast as you’ve indicated, it would have taken time to implement or they would have been detection, no matter how good she was.”

“No wonder he’s protecting her." It made the most sense to Jennenings. “I hope for her sake his gratitude lasts.” 

"I agree he is protecting her, but I’m not convinced there isn’t more to it than that, but it doesn’t really matter. We don’t have a shred of evidence, just supposition." She didn't tell her boss about Jason's request in New York, about needing to get a message out. She didn't tell him about the emotional pain Parsons tried to hide, but that had kept slipping through occasionally, when Pam had debriefed her in Berlin. "What do you want me to do about Bourne, Sir?" 

He thought for a moment about all the lives, money, and time that had gone into chasing a mostly innocent man. "As long as he keeps out of trouble, we leave him alone. I'll be damned if I'm gonna take a page out of Kramer's playbook and start terminating people because a discredited branch of the CIA wanted to play God. All that does is get good men and women killed and have the press accusing us of terrorizing our own people."

"Yes, Sir." Landy was relieved the interview had gone as well as it did. All Wants, Warrants, and TSA alerts had been on pulled Bourne and Parsons the previous January. As long as they were careful, she believed, the two ex-agents had their lives back.

The Director took a moment to use his personal encryption to seal the agents' files. He was tempted to redact the originals of all the documents involved, but decided his code was enough. If anyone went searching at a later date, all they would find was misinformation that appeared to be the real thing.

He handed Landy her iPad and the burner cell. "Keep the phone close, I'd rather be forewarned if he is going to go hunting again."

"If something happens to set him off, he isn't going to ask my permission, Charles, anymore than Aaron Cross would ask yours. You may have struck a deal with him so he and his wife, Marta, are safe, but that doesn't mean you control him any more than I do Jason."

"Then we better keep our people in line and make sure no one is looking for payback." Jennenings lips pucker like he'd tasted something sour. The damage that had ripped through the US Intelligence community due to Treadstone, Blackbrier, Outcome and LARX was still being felt. Powerful men were under scrutiny. When Eric Byer had committed suicide and a week later Ret. Gen. Turso had died of a stroke it had seemed a bit too neat for The Director’s liking, but he had no mandate to operate within the US, so he'd let it go. "Pam, anyone else know about this…for lack of a better word, I’ll say protectiveness Bourne has for Parsons?"

"I don’t think so and if those files are as corrupted as they appear, I doubt anyone will find out.” Landy put the burner in her pocket and closed down her tablet. “I know about it because I was there for a lot of it.”

"The fewer people who suspect any of this, the better.” Charles Jennenings frowned. He was well aware that since coming back from the Wombosi mission, Jason hadn’t initiated any violence, he’d only responded to attacks. It alleviated the need to force the CIA’s hand and begin hunting the man again. “I don't what to contemplate the ten different kinds of hellfire Bourne would rain down on our heads, if someone goes after anyone he feels protective toward, again."

"Good God no." She felt a tingle of worry at the thought.

“Good night, Pamela, though I’m not sure if I should thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Good night, Sir.” She left the CIA Director's office, with a lighter step than she entered it and a small prayer that the burner in her pocket never rang again. Back in her office with her door closed she was able to admit that she hoped this time Jason Bourne was truly off the grid for good and a brown-eyed blonde was at his side.

Pam laughed out loud thinking about the look on her boss’ face when she intimated that there might have been a relationship between Jason and Nicky. Charles Jennenings was well aware of the deep well of affection between Marta and Aaron, but he wasn’t able to accept that the Treadstone legend might have human feelings as well. She shrugged and decided it would only make the two missing people harder to find. If someone went looking, they wouldn’t be looking for a couple.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_December 2008 - Positano_

Nights were getting cooler. The wind chill factor on the plateau made Nicky shiver and she kept a fire burning in her fireplace. There was a damp bite of fog most evenings. She was glad they’d installed some thermal imagining devices along with the night vision cameras. The fog made the cameras almost useless. 

She kept a packed knapsack, boots, heavy socks, pants and a coat beside her bed. She’d practiced and could be dressed and out of the house in under two minutes. Every time Nicky drilled, she aimed to beat the times set when she was doing it with Bourne. It helped, knowing she could do it on her own. It made it a bit easier as another day passed and he didn’t return.

Nick was putting the final touches on a painting she’d begun just before Jason left. At that time she’d planned a scene of the steep street in front of some of the more touristy shops. It looked upward at people, and businesses as they angled up the cliff that was Positano. The crowd was dressed in bright summer clothes and they crammed the twisted walkways. 

When Jason left, Nicky’s fingers itched to commit his likeness to paper or canvas. It was a selfish yearning that she knew wasn’t safe for either of them. Instead she slipped him into her street scene. Where the crowd was thickest, between a flower cart and a trendy café she never frequented, she placed the back of a dark-coated figure. You had to look carefully between groups of relaxed people to see the material stretched across well-muscled shoulders. A hanging sign from the cafe almost obscured the back of his head that was covered in short light brown hair. 

She sat back on her stool, pleased with her work. She’d drawn Bourne, the man who lives in the shadows. From across the room, the dark man blended into the wood of the café. It had taken her two days of mixing colors to come up with the exact shade that would work for both his coat and the wood of the door. 

She knew she was looking at her best work to date and that she could never sell it. Nicky stretched to loosen muscles that were cramped from sitting so long as she worked. She left her canvas on her easel to dry. Her light was almost gone and she was hungry.

She felt content for the first time in a month. There was something about finishing that painting that gave her hope. He was coming back. He had to be. She made pasta, and seasoned her sauce with herbs from her garden. As she cooked she wondered if it would be safe to occasionally slip him, well hidden among a crowd, into other works. She could do it and be the only one who knew he was there by simply painting something over him. It would be like he was hidden behind a tree, building, or door. Only the bottom hem of his black coat would show as he moved through the shadows, unable to take part in the brightly colored life he guarded.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_December 2008 – Valencia, Spain_

Jason had been in Valencia for three days. He was exhausted when he arrived and slept the clock around. No new memories had surfaced since his personal memorial service for Marie, but some of the guilt had eased. Being back there has been strange. He compared the tense life he'd led always running, hiding, moving every few weeks and pushing himself physically as hard as he could, to the one he lived in Positano. Nicky was right all along. He'd been killing himself in stages and had not been as invisible as he had believed himself to be.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Why the hell was he still in Spain? Nick had said she loved him. She'd wanted to come with him without even knowing where he was going. "Damn." He punched his pillow trying to get comfortable, but it was hard when the room was so quiet and she was so far away. He needed to figure out what was keeping him from taking the ferry to Rome.

He'd known she'd loved the man he'd been in Paris. He'd read it in her eyes the first night he'd confronted her at the Gatekeepers Lodge. Jason had found it hard to reconcile the cold killer he believed he was with the man who had loved Nicky Parsons enough to create an escape plan for them both. It didn't fit with the way he'd viewed life after waking up with no memory.

He closed his eyes and visions of her moved lightly through his mind. He saw her laughing in the sun as they moved heavy rocks. He saw her as they worked in the kitchen side-by-side. He grinned at the memory of her dancing with the broom as she swept the hall, and the determined look on her face when she lifted free weights and he pushed her to do just one more rep, while carefully spotting so she wouldn't get hurt.

The next morning he boarded the boat for Rome. Somewhere in the early morning hours he'd come to realize how much he loved that slim blonde woman. There might be danger, but there would be fun too. It was too important a decision for him to make on his own. They would figure it out together like they had everything else this summer.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Positano_

Nicky sat in the living room with her thick pad and pencil. There was a bright light shining down on her work. It wasn’t the best way to sketch, but the idea had kept her fidgeting all evening. She didn’t want to wait for daylight to see if she could capture Jason's hands in her practice book. When she started, she planned for the final product to be done in watercolors. The more she worked to see if she had the ability to create what her mind saw, the more she believed watercolor pencils would be a better medium. She would use them wet to hint at the woman’s waist, rounded hip, slightly arched back and pearly skin tone and dry to emphasize strength as his firm male palm cupped her iliac crest. His long, fingers would spread along her waist, pointed toward her back. The slightly callused thumb appeared to be frozen while stroking a slim flat belly. All that would be seen was a man's hand caressing a tiny section of a woman's naked hip and back. She was lost in her drawing, a memory from long ago and her pencil moved with a mind of its own.

Nick held up the pad and examined what she'd started. The man's hand and the way he touches her was the focal point of the drawing. She was getting there, but her practice drawing wasn’t right yet. She flipped to a blank page in her book and began again.  
Suddenly her watch vibrated. It has been activated by one of the thermal imaging cameras. All thought of drawing flew out of her mind. 

She ripped out the incomplete drawing and dropped her pad. The heat signature of a man moving through the shadows showed on the face of her watch. He was careful to avoid any of the other sensors in the yard and he'd known how to get through the gate without tripping alarms. "Jason?" she whispered. Nick blinked twice to clear the hallucination, but he didn't disappear. He was here. He'd come back.

She quickly folded the drawing and stuffed it in her bra, gripped her Glock Compact and flipped off the lights on the off chance she was wrong. 

“Nicky, don’t shoot,” he whispered as he opened the door and pulled her into his arms. Moments later he was kissing her as if his life depended on it. “I love you.” The words mixed with his kisses.

His rough coat rubbed against her cheek as his mouth covered hers. His fingers tangled in her hair. His tongue swept past her lips, against her inner cheeks and danced with her tongue.

Her fingers dug into his collar and gripped the back of his neck. Tears of joy filled her eyes as she let him devour her.

“You remembered, you remembered,” she exclaimed with joy, as her shaking fingers worked his coat buttons open.

“Wait, Nick, no, I don’t.” He pulled far enough away so he could see her face, but kept her in a gentle embrace. She needed to know the truth. 

“You didn’t get your memory back?” She gasped and pulled free. “I don’t understand?” She wrapped her arms around her body to keep from breaking completely. What game was he playing?

“My memory hasn’t changed, but I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.” He’d practiced the words all the long way from Spain. 

“That’s impossible. You love Marie.” She insisted. She’d heard the tape Pam Landy had played for her in the hotel in Berlin. She’d heard the anguish in Jason’s voice as he spoke of the woman who had died in his place.

“No, Nicky, I didn’t love her. I cared for deeply and tried like hell to love her, but there was always something missing.” He pulled off his coat and stood inches away from her. “I liked and respected her. She kept me sane in an insane world. I always thought my emotions weren’t free because we were on the run and there was no time for me to just let go. But that wasn’t it. I didn’t love her because she wasn’t you.” He smiled gently and caressed the curve of her cheek. “I wish she were still alive, but I’ve known from the moment I arrived last spring we…well…we had something that had prevented me from letting anyone else in.”

“You don’t remember Paris, and you love me, anyway?” She was crying and didn’t know why. 

“Yeah. I figure the man I used to be loved you, and I know for a fact that the one who spent the summer here in this house loves you. Does it really matter if I remember?” It was something he didn’t have an answer to. People are made up of their pasts and he didn’t have much of one. “The only important question is if you meant it when you said you loved me?” he asked, hesitantly.

“I do love you. I regretted that I didn’t say it that last morning before you left Paris,” she sighed. “I’ve loved you for years. But you’ve got to stop leaving me behind. I can’t take it.”

Jason held her close as she cried. She was looking thin and ragged again and it was his fault. “I’m sorry. I promise, never again.” He kissed his way down her temple to her neck.

“Wait, please, where have you been all this time?”

“I went back to India. I needed to put an end to that part of my life, the part where I was always on the run. I left flowers in The Mandovi River where she was killed.” He stumbled slightly over the explanation, because he knew his actions were out of character for him, but it had felt right.

“It sounds like you were looking for closure. Did it work?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t.” He laughed feeling free and happy. “Our life in Paris is still a blank. Are you willing to let last summer be our beginning?” He kissed her and held her close. “I’ve known since July that you were very important to me. I’m sorry it took me so long to put the pieces together.”

“You really mean it? You aren’t just telling me what I want to hear?” Nicky studied his face, looking for any doubts. She’d been hurt too many times by him in the last few years. She wasn’t going to simply jump in unless he was sure.

“I love you and can’t imagine a life without you in it.” He pulled her close and nuzzled her ear punctuating his words with biting kisses. “What is this?” He reached into her shirt and pulled out the crumpled paper she had hidden incase it hadn’t been him at the door.

“Take a look,” her voice was gravelly and filled with need. He moved to the light slowly unfolded the paper. A wicked smile formed on his face as he saw what it contained. “Why Ms. Parsons, have you been drawing sexy pictures of us?”

“Ah…that could be anybody.” She protested, but her dark eyes sparkled making her words a lie.

“I want you, Nicky Parsons.” It moved with careful hunting strides until he was in front of her.

“I want you too.” She melted against him touching and kissing. “This isn’t a dream?”

“No, Babe, we finally got it right.” He ran his fingers through her hair, so very glad to be where he was, no matter the twisted road it had taken getting there.

Together they checked the locks and blackout drapes. Once they were upstairs they armed the inside security system.

He lite the candle on the mantel over the fireplace and looked around the room. The hearth was prepared for a fire. There was extra wood stacked in a basket. One lone mattress sat in the middle of the floor. Nicky’s empty easel was in front of closed blackout curtains. But those were things they could talk about later.

“Nick, come here.” His voice was rough with desire. “I don’t have memories of making love to you. I don’t know what you enjoy or where you like to be touched.”

While he talked he pulled her long-sleeved t-shirt over her head. “But there were times…not sure if they were dreams or fantasies. You have to tell me if I am doing something you don’t like.”

“You won’t hurt me. I’ve always loved your touch.” She sighed when seconds later her bra joined her shirt on the floor. She pulled his sweater over his head and explored his exposed muscles, scars, and skin with her tongue and lips. 

He picked her up and laid her on the bed, making quick work of her shoes, socks, jeans, and panties. “You are so beautiful. I don’t know how I could forget you.” Jason stepped back to admire the way shadows and light from the candle danced over her skin. He pulled off the rest of his clothes and joined her.

To test an old theory he ran his hand under her left breast and found a small mole. He’d known it was there from the moment they’d fought that first night in the living room downstairs. It also made her moan.

“So that was a good spot?” His grin promised more.

“Oh, yeah.” She returned the favor by nuzzling a small patch of skin on his collarbone. It made his nerve endings sizzle.

“You definitely have the advantage.” His laughter was heavy. “I want to learn your body all over again.” 

“It would be my pleasure.” She pulled him closer for a deep kiss while her body screaming for his touch.

He slipped his hand between her legs and found her wet and ready. Nicky moaned his name and arched against him. “I …ah…may not be able to hold out like I used to.” She gulped in air and fought the need to simply let go. “I love you and always have. There hasn’t been anyone since our last time in Paris.” Her eyes filled with tears and she trembled at the admission. 

Nicky’s words hit him hard. “Oh Babe, so that’s what you meant when you told me you didn’t have casual affairs?” 

“I love you and after everything that happened, I couldn’t.” She lightly grazed his hard flat stomach with her nails. “Make love to me. It’s been so hard to have you close and still be alone.” She shook her head unable to believe that she’d made it through to the end. “I thought I’d die of frustration this last summer.”

He laughed as he rolled her body beneath his. “You weren’t the only one who had a tough summer.” Jason held her cheeks between his palms and kissed her. “I love you and want you now.” He felt her legs wrap around his hips and groaned in pleasure. Moments later he thrust into her. Jason Bourne knew he was finally home as they tangled together on that mattress on a small plateau on the Amalfi Coast.

Hours later he took time exploring her body in exhaustive detail. It was a game they both enjoyed playing. This time there was no frenzied drive for control. He found it much more rewarding when he was relaxed and could absorb every detail of her response as he slowly drove her wild again and again. 

In some distant part of his mind he thought that Nicky would probably tell him his new attitude had to do with acceptance of a forgotten past and relieving of guilt. It was something that they could discuss much later. Right now he was much too busy.

Jason positioned himself careful above her squirming body. She was still on her back, touching him everyplace she could reach and trying desperately to catch her breath. Her knees were bent when he slipped between her thighs. He placed her right heel on his shoulders and clamped her bent left knee to the mattress.

“Oh God,” she whimpered. He had her trapped and if felt like heaven.

Leaning forward he ran his tongue over the shell of her ear. “You’re right,” he thrust deeply. She screamed in pleasure and wrapped her arms around him. “You are no shrinking violet.” He thrust again. “And I love you.” He buried himself deep inside of her.

“Jason,” she cried and gripped his bottom tightly to keep up with him. “I lo…love…you too.” She panted.

“Okay Babe, once more and then you can let go.” He leaned forward to kiss his way to the sensitive spot he’d recently discovered behind her right ear.

“Pleassee.” Her glistening dark eyes met his as he drove into her for the last time and they both exploded, together, watching the joy, pleasure and primitive need fill the other’s face.  
****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the weeks that followed, they took the time to create an escape plan, much like Jason had for Nicky. They picked Crete and slowly began to build the necessary covers. It made them feel safe to know they had somewhere to go if anyone came hunting them.

Methodical examinations of their finances showed that between the two of them, if they were careful, they could live on their hill and never work again. They agreed it was a lifestyle neither wanted. It might attract attention and wouldn’t leave them extra cash if they needed to run without liquidating. The immediate answer lay in the olive grove on their property. While Nicky worked to improve her artwork, Jason was in charge of their cash crop. It took research, physical labor and help from other local growers, but by the end of their second year, they were able to live easily off their earnings and save their stash of money for emergencies. 

Nicky wasn’t comfortable setting up an art stall for tourists and Jason agreed. Instead, she contracted with one of the local cafes to display her work for a small commission. 

Two months after Jason Weston returned to Positano after supposedly helping a fellow comrade in arms through a difficult time, he and Colette Benoit were married in a small ceremony attended by Count Dinapoli and his family, Sylvie his housekeeper, and the fisherman S. Martini and his family.

They lived, loved, and raised two daughters on that plateau, never having to make use of their escape plan.

In all the years that followed, Jason never regained his memory. Occasionally there would be flashes, but they all centered on Nicky. As far as he was concerned, he remembered the best parts.

Agents who lived through the death and destruction caused by Treadstone, Blackbrier, Outcome, and the like, aged and moved upward or into the private sector. They remembered and respected the few powerful men and women who had survived those terrible years. But younger members of the CIA smiled and swapped rumors over beers, believing Bourne, Parsons, Cross and Shearing's exploits to be Urban Legend, entertaining, but exaggerated. Stories to keep the newest Rookies on their toes, _"Watch your back or Jason Bourne will get you."_

**The End**


End file.
